


Take Me to the Stars

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotional Constipation, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Playful Sex, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 134,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: It's one year after the war's end and Shiro's still trying to figure out what he wants to do and what he's going to do. When he receives word that he'll be promoted to the Admiralty within the next few months, all he feels is dread for his inevitable grounding.Meanwhile, Keith is building a ship.(Or: Shiro and Keith go on the space road trip they were always meant to take.)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 1444
Kudos: 1508





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songdances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songdances/gifts).



> Fic for [Ana](https://twitter.com/shiningwills), who enabled me to write this slowburn multichapter fic idea I've been sitting on. 
> 
> I've been working on this bad boy since July and I'm so excited (and nervous) to just throw it out into the world now. ♥   
> (Also, credit to [Morse](https://twitter.com/MorseCodexx) for the idea of Keith building a ship after the war.)
> 
> And thank you to [Kika](https://twitter.com/B1ackPa1adins) and [Jess](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic) who read this over for me!
> 
> (Note on tags: I'll be adding tags as we go, but please know that at no point will any of the archive warnings apply. There will eventually be nsfw scenes, so if you have concerns regarding squicks, feel free to contact me for information for upcoming chapters! And, as always, if there is a tag I should be using, please let me know.)

Atlas has been grounded for one year since the war’s end when Shiro gets the notification in his inbox congratulating him on his impending promotion to Admiral.

Shiro is in the middle of running field-drills with the MFEs when he receives the ping, reads the brief note, and feels a swell of dread crash down through his chest.

Bureaucracy, he knows, moves slowly. It’ll still be several months before the promotion goes through properly and they parade him out for some sort of ceremony like their most prized show pony. But Shiro also knows that, even with the war over, the brass will want to make this into a _big_ deal. A Paladin of Voltron, rising through the ranks of the Galaxy Garrison to a position of leadership? They’ll want to capitalize on that if only for the recruitment possibilities.

Things are still scrambled in the wake of the war, too much of a vacuum within the brass itself. No true leader and no one fully in the ranks. They’ll want Shiro front and center— of course they will. It’s the perfect PR move.

Shiro stares at his datapad for so long that Veronica needs to elbow him to bring him to attention, startling him. She turns and calls out to the MFEs: “Alright, we’re done for the day! Go wash up.”

Shiro tears his eyes away from his PADD to look at her. “We still have—”

“We’re done for the day,” she says with that same fierceness that Shiro’s sure she’s used to corral many brothers and sisters, Lance especially. That’s what Shiro’s always appreciated about Veronica: she’s no-nonsense.

Five minutes later, Shiro leaves the training room with a strict order from his subordinate to rest but knowing that, likely, he’ll just go do paperwork instead. That’s all this has been for the past year in the wake of the war— paperwork, bureaucracy, paperwork, and more paperwork.

And now the Garrison’s going to make him an Admiral.

Shiro knows he should be pleased, that he should be grateful for the recognition of his abilities and strengths. But all he feels is dread, a surety lowering down on him like a bomb. He’s dreaded Admiralty ever since he first progressed beyond Cadet.

Admiralty is a desk job. Admirals don’t explore the universe. Admirals don’t lead manned missions. Admirals don’t pilot. It doesn’t matter that Shiro’s the only one to transform the Atlas— she’s been grounded for a year and Shiro’s stopped hoping that she’ll be stretching her legs again any time soon.

Earth is in peacetime now. And the last thing the Garrison wants to do is send up their flagship into intergalactic space. Shiro’s suspected this ever since Haggar’s fall. The writing has been on the wall for the better part of a year now.

It’s easier to focus elsewhere, but it doesn’t stop Shiro from knowing he’s being forced into a cage. He’s too valuable to let out into the wild. He means too much to the Garrison as a symbol.

Sometimes it’s easy to fall into the monotony of it all. Atlas and her crew are stable, although Shiro knows it’ll be some time— if ever— before she flies again. Still, Shiro’s made it a point to learn crew member names, to know their faces. He used to know exactly who had lost someone in the war, who was still searching for a loved one, who was doing the best they can. But that’s all faded at the edges and most days he second-guesses if he’s remembering correctly or not. He calls someone by name and worries he’s fucked up and they’re too polite to correct him.

He wants to be better at it but fears he never will be.

Some days he’ll see a face and be sure he’s never seen them before.

Shiro should be satisfied with what he’s doing. The Atlas crew spearheads rebuilding and diplomatic relations with Coalition citizens on and off Earth. There’s the training of new pilots and engineers. So shortly after the war’s end, recruitment has sky-rocketed, much to the Garrison’s delight. The ranks are swollen, robust with new and eager people longing to make a difference in the world.

It’s all good, satisfying work. Shiro is doing more than he ever has before. He should be content with this.

But Shiro knows this was never what he wanted to do.

His thoughts threaten to turn morbid just as, turning the corner in the Atlas, he nearly crashes into Keith. He’s there with the wolf, bag slung over his shoulder and heavy with its contents.

“Shiro,” Keith greets and then smiles, like there’s nothing he loves more than to see Shiro there in the hallway.

Shiro’s heart does a happy little squirm at that smile— he can’t help it when it comes to Keith— and he doesn’t fight his own in answer. “Keith, hey,” Shiro says. “What are you doing here?”

“Paladins are heading out for a cleanup soon,” Keith says. “I’m just loitering.”

Keith strides to him in a swift, easy glide and doesn’t hesitate as he throws his arms around Shiro and hugs him tight. It’s one of his bigger hugs, the kind meant only for Shiro. And it doesn’t matter what it might look like to others, not when Shiro has Keith in his arms. Keith curls his arms around Shiro and hugs him close, pressed up against his chest. And just as he always does, Shiro hugs him back, sighing out.

Shiro feels every point of contact between him and Keith. He’s aware of the smell of his hair, the lithe curve of his body, the firm way he holds Shiro, like even now he’s promising to never let go.

They linger. It goes on far too long, something skirting the edges of what Shiro knows is appropriate— he’s pushing against that established line and, someday, Keith might recoil. They are friends, brothers, fellow Paladins. Shiro would trade none of this for the world, and yet his heart sits heavy in his chest sometimes when he holds Keith like this and _wants._

But there are so many things Shiro wants; he is used to sacrifice. He is used to not getting what he wants.

Keith’s friendship, though, will always be everything to him. He would never do anything to throw that away. Not after everything they’ve been through together.

Sometimes, Shiro wonders if he should say something. But it’s never the right time. Shiro’s sure it’s never going to be the right time.

Eventually, though, the two of them must draw away from the hug. Keith sighs as he parts from him, smiling up at him. “You looked like you needed that.”

“Ha,” Shiro breathes.

Keith pats the wolf on the head and slings his bag over the wolf’s neck. The wolf licks his cheek before he flickers out of sight, leaving behind only the vague smell of ozone and a flash of blue light flickering through the air like fireflies.

Keith smiles fondly where the wolf once stood, and he looks handsome in the shimmering of blue light. His hair’s gotten longer in the year since the war, licking at his jaw and curling near his shoulders. He’s always been handsome, Shiro knows, but standing in the hallway, eyes soft, hair looking so silky, Shiro’s once again reminded of all the things he wants and can’t have.

“What’s up?” Shiro asks, nodding towards where the wolf once stood.

Keith turns back towards him, his expression still soft as he smiles up at Shiro. “Just some spare parts the Holts were going to toss out— I snagged them for myself. Figured I could find some use for them later. The wolf’s just dropping them off at the shack for me.”

“Got some kind of project in mind?” Shiro asks as the two of them start walking down the hallway, falling into step together easily. Shiro should be going to his quarters to complete that paperwork, but it’s hardly a hesitation to go with Keith instead, escorting him to wherever he’s headed.

“Not really.” Keith shrugs easily. “I figured it’ll come to me.”

Shiro’s not sure when they start to slow down or who slows first, but soon they’re hardly walking with purpose and, instead, meandering down the hallways of the Atlas. At each corner, they nearly stop completely, waiting to see what direction they sway and following it. Shiro doesn’t mind the delay if it means he’s getting a few extra moments with Keith before he heads out with the Paladins.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?” Keith asks, as if reading Shiro’s mind.

Shiro thinks back on the paperwork and the thousand other things he should be doing. It always has to be him, somehow, it seems— it’s always him who’s messaged, called, brought in for whatever tiny detail. It doesn’t matter that the Atlas is grounded. It’s somehow always Captain Shirogane who needs to provide answers to pressing questions.

He knows Keith must feel it, too, as leader of Voltron. It doesn’t matter that the Lions are gone now— somehow there’s always someone who wants and needs the Paladins’ time.

“Not really,” Shiro says, quickly dismissing the thought of sitting at his desk filling out paperwork. He smiles. “Nothing pressing, at least.”

Keith scoffs, understanding. “There’s always someone that needs something, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Keith lifts his hand, touching Shiro’s arm and squeezing, affectionate and commiserating. They’ve stopped walking entirely, just standing and lingering in the hallway in front of the elevator down to ground level for disembarkment off the Atlas.

“Hey… everything okay?”

Shiro blinks at Keith, surprised. Keith always has the uncanny ability to guess when something’s bothering Shiro, and the anxiety squirms in his chest whenever he thinks about his upcoming promotion.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says because he knows better than to deny that something’s on his mind with Keith. Keith’s hand flexes on his arm, gripping tight and refusing to let go. “Nothing dire, at least.”

“Want to talk about it?” Keith asks gently.

Shiro shakes his head, sighing. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to talk about it with Keith, but more that he doesn’t want to put voice to it. It’ll make it real. It’ll make it inevitable.

Keith seems to understand, taking Shiro’s silence in stride. After a pause, he says, “If you don’t have anything you need to do right now… Want to come to the cleanup with me?”

Shiro’s mouth twitches around a smile, involuntary. “Trying to shove work off onto others, Keith?”

Keith makes a face but it’s clear he’s just trying to hold back a smile. But he loses that battle and one starts plucking up the corners of his mouth.

“You caught me,” Keith teases and then the almost-smile becomes a grin. He squeezes Shiro’s arm one last time as the wolf flickers back into existence, shoving his nose into Keith’s side until Keith curls his free arm around his neck, leaning against him. “What do you say?”

Shiro wonders how much longer he’ll be able to just dart off to do something with his best friend just because he feels like it. He hates the idea of being strapped to his desk, never able to leave until all the delegation and leadership responsibilities are done.

“How can I possibly refuse such an offer?”

Keith grins at him, holds his arm tight, and together with the wolf, they flicker off the Atlas.

-

Today, the Paladins are cleaning up the main street of the main city outside the Garrison. It’s a simple enough initiative— ground teams sweeping through to clean out debris and obstacles for vehicles and equipment to come in with the rest of the cleaning. The next stage, once they’re able to get there, will be to start rebuilding in earnest. It’s a global initiative in the wake of the Galra invasion, spearheaded by the Galaxy Garrison with assistance from Coalition members stationed on Earth.

What it really amounts to, though, is grunt work. It’s grunt work that the Garrison didn’t want the Paladins doing— wanting them for higher-profile missions ripe with promotional opportunities such as photographs, promo posters, interviews, and the works. It’s really only upon the Paladins’ insistence that they get to do this much.

Shiro knows the brass has no idea what to do with the Paladins. Allura isn’t under their jurisdiction, having never formally joined the Garrison, and Keith is still technically an expelled student. Hunk, Pidge, and Lance are officially only cadets even now. Shiro can only guess that it’s a matter of time before they’re made to fall in line properly— likely promotions to lieutenant or lieutenant-commander alongside Shiro’s admiralty promotion.

In the meantime, the Paladins of Voltron are wrestling with old junk piles and slabs of concrete jutting out on the street. There’s old rebar everywhere, slices of building just crumbled across the street. It’s almost comical to watch the Paladins in their Garrison uniforms squat down to pick through piles of stones.

Allura, with her superior strength, is instrumental in moving the slabs of concrete that would likely require machinery otherwise.

Beside Shiro, Keith wrestles with an old pile of junk and pulls out the remains of a Galra cruiser’s impulse engine control. It’s almost fully intact and in pretty good shape, despite the wreckage of the ship itself.

“Huh,” Keith says, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Think I can keep this?”

No one else is around aside from the Paladins, so Shiro shrugs and says, “Why not? It’s all yours.”

“There’re lots of engines and hulls all over the place,” Keith muses, weighing the component in his hand. Shiro thinks he might just be thinking aloud, but it’s at least half directed towards him.

Shiro’s the only one listening, at least. Lance and Allura are shoulder to shoulder down the street, Allura trying to coax a plant to grow in the dilapidated sidewalk. Lance looks utterly besotted. Pidge is nearby, within hearing range, but there’s no chance she’s listening to Keith when her nose is pressed into her PADD, mapping out and directing other clean-up parties. Hunk’s closer to Allura and Lance, pointedly ignoring them as he pushes a large slab of concrete out of the road, huffing and puffing.

“You really are starting a collection of stuff, huh?” Shiro asks.

Keith shrugs, looking up at Shiro with that same light smile playing at his mouth. He looks sweet in the morning light, even surrounded by such destruction, but Shiro can also acknowledge privately to himself that he’d always find Keith handsome, regardless of lighting.

“I dunno. Just seems a waste to let them… well, go to waste,” Keith says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll figure something out.”

“You always do,” Shiro says.

Keith ducks his head, shoving a hand through his hair to push it away from his face. It’s curled at the nape of his neck, just a little damp from the growing morning heat and the Paladins’ exertions. Shiro’s hand twitches with the urge to drag his fingers through it, to feel what it feels like curled around his fingers.

It’s a pathetic thought, and certainly not the first time Shiro has thought it. He’s long since grown used to his longing for Keith, long since given himself hell for being so slow on the uptake about his feelings. He doesn’t know how long he’s sat on these feelings, when they first started to grow, but they’re here now. It is what it is.

He still remembers being stranded on a distant planet with Keith, the wound in his side still bleeding, and staring up at Keith and knowing, somehow, that he’d fallen in love. Everything that came after was complicated and messy, but loving Keith has never felt like either— loving Keith has always been the easiest thing he’s ever done.

And standing in the middle of a destroyed street, standing on planet Earth with his best friend, admiring the way his hair curls when it’s damp, all Shiro can really think is how miraculous it is that he can even be alive at all.

Some things are inevitable, but it feels just as well that loving Keith should be inevitable, too.

-

“Alright, team,” Keith says a quarter of an hour later, dusting his hands. “We’ve cleared this sector. Let’s move on to the next?”

They’ve cleared out the road enough to help the machinery get in to move the larger slabs of stone, concrete, and old building. They’re just the foot team, one of hundreds, clearing away stray debris. There’s always more work to be done.

Shiro knows the PADD in his pocket is likely full of emails and messages wondering where he is. He sent a quick message off to Veronica in the hopes she might be able to stave off some sort of reprimand. After all, helping clear streets is a better use of his time than approving personnel changes on the Atlas. Why should it matter who’s the Alpha shift communications officer when the Atlas hasn’t left the atmosphere in months?

Shiro has his own private concerns about the Garrison’s growing reach, but it’s hard to say as much without feeling like some sort of betrayal or dragging unwanted attention towards himself. For the most part, it’s better for him to just stick with his team and keep his concerns to himself. Shiro was never born a soldier, he’s had to adapt into one, but with the war’s end behind them, and years of rehabilitation and rebuilding ahead of him, sometimes he has his doubts about the Garrison’s methods.

For now, though, he follows Keith as he directs the Paladins towards the next sector, about two kilometers south of their current location. Shiro snags Pidge by the back of her collar so she isn’t left behind, and she lets out a loud, surprised squawk at his sudden presence.

“You have to stop zoning out when Keith’s talking,” he says, scolding without much heat and she elbows him hard in the ribs before she falls into step with them, squirming out of his collar-hold.

She rolls her eyes dramatically and calls, “Sorry for ignoring you, Team Leader.”

Shiro turns his head, already anticipating the look in Keith’s eyes— speaking louder than any words ever could. And Keith is there, smiling with a secretive little curve, something knowing in his eyes.

Keith shoots them both a look over his shoulder, lifting his eyebrows in judgement. He ruins the stern look with a light smile as he turns his face away, punching Lance’s shoulder in passing as he scoots by Lance and Allura making moon eyes at each other.

It’s all easy. Shiro’s grateful for it after all the time they’ve spent in space, fighting an intergalactic war none of them signed up for— a war they were dragged into because of Shiro. It’s reassuring, to see them all teasing each other, laughing with one another, and knowing they’re all safe. That somehow, miraculously, they all made it through. They’ll clean up here and, at the end of the day, head back to the Atlas and have dinner with Coran and Romelle joining them, all of them— alive and safe.

Sometimes it still steals Shiro’s breath, to think that they’re all even here at all. That he’s even around to watch how they’ve all grown, changed, and become stronger. How they’re all still healing but healing together.

He’s grateful that he’s alive to see it.

At the next sector, they fan out, digging and clearing away debris. Keith sticks close to Shiro, just like before. It isn’t a conscious decision on their part, Shiro thinks, only that it’s natural for them to stick together.

Shiro uses his Altean arm to lift a heavy chunk of concrete for Keith as he squats down, looking pleased as he spots the twisted up, gnarled remains of a Galra drone.

“Oh, I can use this, too,” Keith murmurs as he stretches out on his stomach and squirms closer, digging through the tech. Shiro does not watch the way his trousers pull tight over his ass as he wriggles.

Shiro sighs and, with great care, tips the concrete so it falls in the opposite direction of Keith’s stretched-out body. Keith grabs the spare knobs of a discarded Galra stabilization module and makes a soft _hah_ of triumph. He rolls over onto his back to grin up at Shiro.

It is, of course, devastating. Keith’s hair clings to his forehead, damp with the desert heat, and his grin is infectious. Helplessly Shiro finds himself grinning back and offering his hand to drag Keith back up onto his feet. Keith’s hold is firm, tight on Shiro’s wrist as he’s righted. He dusts himself off.

“How are you going to carry all of this back?” Shiro asks, both curious and teasing.

Keith considers and then shrugs. “I’ll have the wolf bring me back later with a box.”

Shiro watches Keith start a small pile in the lee of a building, well away from Paladin cleanup or from incoming Garrison vehicles and equipment. He claps his hands together to knock off stray debris and rubble from his fingerless gloves before turning back towards Shiro.

“I can help you pack it up later,” Shiro says.

Keith shrugs. “If you want. Don’t want to trouble you.” His eyes glitter, understanding but a little teasing, when he adds, “But if you’re trying to avoid thinking about something, I’m happy to distract you.”

“My hero,” Shiro teases back. “What would I do without you?”

“You wouldn’t be sweating in the sun, for one thing,” Keith says, eyes dragging from Shiro’s face to his chest, where some sweat’s starting to dot the front of his uniform.

Shiro chuckles. “Guess so. You saved me from a morning and afternoon of paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. Managed to avoid making me the Garrison’s lapdog for at least one more day.”

He means for it to land as a joke, to cringe theatrically, but maybe his words come out sounding a little too close to the truth, too embittered, because Keith looks up at him with a sharp, assessing look, his mouth quirking down into a frown.

Keith has been doing that more and more lately. Shiro used to have a better poker face, or maybe Keith’s just gotten that good at reading him. Either way, Shiro will say something that’s meant to be a joke and Keith will look right through it, finding that kernel of disapproval or upset.

Keith straightens, kicking at some loose pebbles. “They’re working you too hard. You’re only human.”

It’s not the first time Keith’s said as much, either. Shiro shrugs helplessly and doesn’t deny it— if he can’t be honest with Keith, who can he be honest with, after all?— stooping to collect five rock-sized hunks of concrete and tossing them into the growing pile of haul-away debris.

Keith seems insistent, though, following behind him. “Where do they get off making _you_ have to do paperwork?”

“Everyone has to do paperwork, Keith,” Shiro says with a laugh, casting him a fond glance. Keith’s lips thin in disapproval and Shiro shrugs again, aiming for nonchalance. “I don’t get special privileges just because—”

“Just because you saved the universe and captain the most powerful vessel in the fleet?”

Shiro’s smile softens, as it always does when Keith’s rising to his defense. “ _Especially_ because I captain the most powerful vessel in the fleet, Keith.”

Keith scowls. “It’s stupid. The least they can do is let you have a damn break.”

“Ha,” Shiro laughs. “I don’t know what I’d do with a break if I had one, honestly. But I’ll admit that… the transition back into paperwork has been a tough one.”

And being an Admiral will only make it worse. It’ll be meetings, strategizing, paperwork, and delegation. All things he’s passably good at, of course. But it isn’t what he signed up for. This isn’t why he joined the Galaxy Garrison, way back in the day when he thought he’d explore planets in the Sol system and then be forced into early retirement due to a debilitating disease.

Maybe in that respect, it’s a good thing the Lions are gone. The Garrison can’t try to control Voltron if there isn’t any Voltron, no matter how hard it tries to control its Paladins.

That thought treads down a sadder path, though. Shiro feels the ache in his chest where Black used to be like a barely closed wound. He pauses, staring down at the ground to collect himself.

Keith grunts, sensing Shiro’s mood or noticing his stillness, and he turns easily into Shiro’s space. His hand touches Shiro’s shoulder, squeezing.

“Hey,” Keith murmurs.

“I’m alright,” Shiro says automatically and then corrects, “I’m just thinking.”

“About paperwork?” Keith asks wryly and Shiro laughs.

“Exactly,” Shiro mutters, smiling down at Keith and wishing things were just a little easier.

-

Shiro comes back with Keith later that afternoon, both hands gripping the wolf’s fur. The wolf’s grown a lot since he first returned with Keith from the Quantum Abyss. He towers over most of them now, and with Keith standing on the other side of him, Shiro can’t see him once they arrive in a burst of ozone and comet dust. The wolf shakes his mighty mane, turns his head to lick Keith’s cheek, and then trots to a piece of shade to wait for them to be done.

Keith’s hair is sticking straight up on one side where the wolf licked him and he struggles to wrestle it back into submission while balancing four empty boxes and a shoulder bag. Shiro reaches out and takes the boxes from him.

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles, patting down his hair. “He does that because he knows it annoys me.”

Shiro smiles. “I dunno. I think you look good, Keith.”

Keith snorts and tugs one of the boxes out of Shiro’s arms. “Shut up. Help me load this all up.”

He squats down, sorting through the engine parts he set aside earlier in the day. Shiro sets down the empty boxes except one and joins him, packing away the larger pieces with delicate precision.

Shiro eyes the massive engine he and Keith managed to heave to the side of the road. “Will the wolf be able to transport that, too?”

Keith looks up to where Shiro’s looking and nods. “Oh, yeah. Weight doesn’t really matter for him. As long as he knows what he’s moving, he can move it.”

Shiro’s mouth fights a smile. “So does that mean if he bit into a space ship, he could move that, too?”

Keith pauses, brow furrowing. “Huh. No, I don’t think he can. I guess weight matters, then?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, an engine’s nothing.”

Shiro nods, mourning that his first thought is a tactical approach— a way to use the wolf in a fight: send him into an enemy craft’s engine room and have him abscond with the impulse engine. Blink and boom, done. Shiro remembers a time when his first thought would have been for exploration, not fighting. But then, that’s what war does. There’s nothing more he can do about it than push past it.

He helps Keith pack everything up and, with several trips via the wolf, stack each box in the empty front room of Keith’s shack.

Keith dusts his hands after the last run, looking pleased with their finds. Shiro feels a little woozy on his feet after so many back-and-forth trips through the nebulous web of _space_ the wolf travels through. It leaves him with a sniffly nose, of all things, and a lightheaded feeling like he’s about to get a cold.

“You alright?” Keith asks, more teasing than concern. He smirks up at Shiro.

“I don’t know how you managed to fight doing that,” Shiro says, swaying on his feet.

Keith chuckles, catching Shiro by his elbow.

“Guess I’m just that impressive,” Keith teases, like he doesn’t believe that.

But Keith is impressive. Keith is the most amazing man Shiro’s ever known. And he knows he’d think that even if he weren’t in love with him.

He gives Keith a long look and Keith laughs, pushing at his shoulder. “Okay, okay. Don’t launch into a lecture about how I should value myself.”

“You should,” Shiro says with added weight.

Keith shoves at his shoulder again. “Alright, Old Timer. I get it. You think I’m great.”

“I know you’re great,” Shiro says and grins when Keith blushes.

“Geez.”

He tugs on Shiro’s shoulder and makes him sit down on the shacks’ old, sand-blasted couch. It’s a miracle it’s still standing. Shiro remembers falling asleep on it that first night back on Earth after escaping his captivity

It’s weird to think about that now as he flops down onto the couch. He’s changed so much since then, had already changed so much from the moment he sat down on this couch. The couch is old, worn now from the years the Paladins never experienced due to universal time warping. That still takes Shiro by surprise more than anything— that they’re younger than they’re supposed to be, that the world kept going even when they were gone.

Such a thought used to terrify Shiro— that the world would keep moving, even once he was dead. Now, there’s some sort of relief in it: everything will be okay, even if he’s gone.

Keith flops onto the couch beside him with a low groan, rubbing absently at one of his biceps, likely tweaked from so much hauling and moving around today. He kicks his feet up, shoving at Shiro’s thigh until Shiro scoots over to make room for Keith to properly sprawl.

The wolf trots over with a low whine, shoving his massive face into Keith’s lap. Keith chuckles and drops his hand, scratching the wolf behind his ear.

“He’s all moody now because he can’t fit on couches,” Keith says in explanation to Shiro as the wolf gives a lone whine and casts Shiro the most woebegone look Shiro’s ever seen on an animal or man. Keith coos at the wolf, scrubbing his fingers through his fur. “When I have a big ship, I’ll get a big bed that you can sprawl out in, buddy. But until then, it’s the floor for you.”

The wolf tucks himself up on the rug in front of the couch, only his head up in Keith’s lap. He still looks extremely put-upon due to his size. Keith keeps affectionately petting him.

“Big ship and a big bed, huh?” Shiro asks. “That why you’re collecting all these parts?”

Keith laughs. “Yeah, kind of. I was thinking today… I don’t know, there’re so many parts lying around. I probably could build a ship if I wanted to. Nothing huge, and definitely nothing that could fit him,” Keith says, patting the wolf on the head, “but something? I don’t know.”

“You should,” Shiro encourages. “Go build yourself a cruiser.”

“Won’t go as fast as Red, or even Black, but…” Keith shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”

“It’ll give you something to do, at least. I know you get antsy if you don’t have something to occupy your hands.”

Keith wriggles his fingers in the wolf’s mane to demonstrate, laughing. “You caught me.” He hums thoughtfully, staring down into the wolf’s somber gaze. Keith’s smile turns lighter, thoughtful and a little far away. “I guess it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a ship. If I could make her space-worthy, then…”

“Then?” Shiro prompts, reaching out to scratch the nape of the wolf’s neck. The wolf gives a pleased rumbly sound, his tail thumping once on the floor before he snuggles deeper against Keith’s belly.

Keith shrugs. “Then… I dunno. Wouldn’t have to be stuck down here.”

Shiro’s hand stills for half a breath before he resumes the movement, fueled on by a wolfy grumble. His stomach squirms for just a second with an unvoiced anxiety— a knowledge that this is all temporary, that eventually, of course, everyone will move on. And it makes sense that Keith wouldn’t want to stay stuck in the Garrison.

It makes sense, too, that Keith wouldn’t want to stick around.

“Planning on taking off?” Shiro asks, keeping his voice purposefully light, keeping his focus on the wolf.

Keith’s eyes are on the wolf, too, and when Shiro glances up at him, his lashes are sooty and fanned out over his cheeks as he blinks down, hair falling into his face.

“I guess?” Keith says. “I mean… I don’t know. It’s been weird here, lately. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. He forces out a light, “You really hate the paperwork, huh?”

Keith’s mouth twitches. Shiro can’t help but keep glancing at him, studying his expression. He looks handsome in the dying light of the day, the sunset streaming in through the sand-blasted windows of this old shack, illuminating every year of wear and tear on its floorboards, on the furniture, on the two men sitting on the couch.

Keith’s grown so much in the time since they’ve met. Shiro took for granted that he’d always get to see Keith grow.

“I’m not sure,” Keith admits, looking up from the wolf and looking startled when he finds Shiro’s eyes already on him. Shiro looks down instinctively before darting back up again to catch and hold his gaze. Keith looks at him, steady and sure. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about,” Keith says. “Nothing set in stone. I just… I don’t know. You know?”

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. “I know. I get it.”

Keith smiles, a tentative thing, looking backlit against the setting sun. Shiro wants to reach out and touch him, and not for the first time. Wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear, wants to cradle his jaw. It’d be so easy to just reach out and touch him.

Keith squirms on the couch, adjusting until the wolf’s head shifts off from resting so heavily on his stomach. He tugs playfully on the fur at the nape of his neck. His smile is unbearably fond when the wolf tilts his muzzle up to peer at Keith.

“You’re spoiled,” Keith tells him as he starts bumping his nose against Keith’s other hand. But he relents, sighing and scratching under the wolf’s chin.

“And whose fault is that?” Shiro teases.

Keith snorts. “He knows I can’t handle puppy eyes.”

“Can anyone?” 

Shiro shifts on the couch, too, stretching his legs out and slumping with a heavy sigh. Now that he’s relaxing, he can feel the bone-deep exhaustion thrumming through him. The consequence of fighting a war nonstop, apparently, and dealing with its aftermath.

“You alright?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “I know, realistically, that even with the war over, things wouldn’t just be… magically fixed and perfect. I knew there’d be a lot of work to be done. I’m willing to do that work. I’m happy I’m even _here_ to do the work.”

Keith makes a soft sound, although Shiro isn’t sure if it’s agreement or distress at the reference.

Shiro sighs. “It’s just… so much. And it feels unending. And, I don’t know…”

This isn’t something he could ever admit to anyone but Keith. To everyone else, he might present a strong front, but with Keith— he never wants to pretend with Keith.

He doesn’t know how to put to words what he wants— and hasn’t that always been the problem?— how to express what he wants, or his lingering fear about being a pawn for a different chess board. He slides his hand down the wolf’s back, as far as he can manage where the wolf’s curled up next to the couch. His Altean hand lifts, scrubbing over his own face and pressing back into his hair.

He ducks his head, kneading at the back of his neck. He can feel Keith watching him, quiet and contemplative. He remembers Keith as an explosive, fiery kid, but the reality is that he’s always been thoughtful, always been meticulous. People are too quick to call him the bad boy, the lone wolf, the impulsive, but in reality, Keith’s always been so steadfast. He’s been a foundation for Shiro longer than he cares to admit.

Finally, Keith says, “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”

Shiro laughs through his nose, his smile brittle. “What else is new?”

Keith shifts, ignoring the wolf’s protesting grunt when he scoots forward, tucking his legs underneath him and moving down the length of the couch until he’s sitting right next to Shiro. Shiro tilts his head to meet him, smiling when Keith touches his shoulder, his hand strong and sure.

“Shiro,” Keith says, and he’s the only person in the universe who could get away with sounding so scolding.

It makes Shiro smile. “I know.”

Keith’s lips thin into a thoughtful line. “They don’t deserve you.”

“Who? The Garrison?”

“Obviously,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes. “They should treat you better than they are.”

Shiro laughs. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Keith flops against the couch, settling in beside Shiro. Shiro laughs, lifting his hand to curl around Keith’s wrist, squeezing once before dropping away. Keith lets his hand linger on Shiro’s shoulder for a moment longer before he slowly draws it away.

Shiro lets out a little _oof_ as the wolf shoves his face into Shiro’s lap, staring up at him with baleful eyes.

“Aww,” Shiro coos and pets him obediently. The wolf chuffs a breath and closes his eyes, tail thumping on the floor.

“Looks like you’re spoiling him, too,” Keith teases, tucking his arm up against the back of the couch and resting his cheek there, looking at Shiro rather than the wolf.

“We get along.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, ignoring Shiro’s joke and, of course, speaking with only the utmost earnestness. “He really likes you.”

“Yeah?”

“He told me so himself.” 

The wolf grumbles and squirms closer when Shiro reaches down with his Altean hand to scratch his back. “Yeah?” Shiro asks. “You talk about me?”

“Who else would I talk about?” Keith answers, again with perfect earnestness.

Shiro laughs, embarrassed, and hates that he feels his cheeks heat up with a blush. He ducks his head with a small smile, focusing on petting the wolf instead of addressing those words and how squirmy they make him feel on the inside. Keith doesn’t mean it like anything other than how it sounds— Shiro is, after all, his closest friend. Of course they’d talk about each other.

It’s easy to fall into the quiet of the moment. The sun sinks behind the mountains in the distance, bathing the shack in one last wash of red before it starts to fade into dusk. Shiro pets the wolf and Keith leans against the couch, looking first at Shiro and then slowly letting his eyes fall shut.

Shiro watches him once he’s sure Keith’s eyes are closed, the way his face starts to smooth out and grow relaxed. He’s handsome, but Shiro’s always known that about him, and he looks younger when he’s relaxed like this. Shiro’s eyes trace along the edge of the scar on his cheek before skittering away. Keith sighs out, wriggling closer towards Shiro. His hair falls across his eyes and settles there as he snuggles closer into Shiro’s arm.

“You should rest,” Shiro whispers, afraid of jarring him.

Keith grumbles, sounding much like the wolf did only a few minutes ago. “I am.”

“I meant in a bed,” Shiro teases.

“In a minute,” Keith sighs. “I can have the wolf bring us back to the Atlas.”

“No rush,” Shiro says, voice low. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

That isn’t necessarily true. He has some reports he needs to turn in by midnight, but he’s looking at a long night, regardless. A few minutes more with his best friend isn’t going to be a big deal, in the end, and he’s unwilling to break up this moment.

He shifts a little, turning his head and leaning his cheek against the couch, facing Keith. Keith’s eyes don’t open and he doesn’t seem to fall fully into sleep, but he’s clearly dozing. As the light around them grows darker, Shiro can’t fight his indulgent smile. He could look at Keith for hours and never grow tired of it. There’s a quiet pleasure in being able to drink his fill, to look without awkwardness or expectation.

He has a feeling that it’s likely not appropriate to tell your best friend that you think he’s handsome, but it’s all Shiro can think when he looks at Keith, at the way his hair burns in the dying licks of the sunlight, how he looks perfectly at peace in the growing darkness. He wonders if Keith would agree to go out and look at the stars with him, if he’d sprawl out on the floorboards of the old porch and stare into the universe with him. He could think of a hundred things to say, so many lines of poetry or compliments or anything, that he could bestow upon Keith.

But, like so many things, Shiro holds it all back and contents himself in looking at him, in memorizing him in this moment— Keith at the end of the war, alive and safe, peaceful and dozing in front of Shiro, at ease and beautiful.

It’d be easy for him to pull Keith in close, to pull the smoldering line of his body to press up against Shiro’s, to hold him close as he sleeps, to gently coax the wolf into bringing them back to the Atlas. But he doesn’t, no matter how much he has to fight the urge to brush the hair away from Keith’s face. That just isn’t something they do.

“You know,” Keith whispers, voice thready with sleep. His eyes don’t open but he shifts a little, popping his back. His hand lifts, thumbing at his cheek, tracing along his scar. It’s a nervous tic, Shiro thinks, something Keith has started doing thoughtlessly over the last year.

“Mm?”

“I think…” Keith murmurs, fighting back a yawn, “I think I could get used to this. Just… being.”

“Ha,” Shiro breathes, an almost-laugh. His heart squirms in his chest. “Yeah, Keith. Me too.”

The world keeps changing. The universe keeps changing. Shiro isn’t sure of his place in any of it anymore— but, with Keith, he never has to question where he belongs.

Keith opens his eyes, a depthless galaxy, and smiles at him. He tangles a hand in the wolf’s fur and with a whispered command, the three of them go back to the Atlas.

-

Keith keeps collecting pieces of tech on their clean-up missions. Shiro helps him haul it all back to the shack and within weeks, Keith has a hefty collection of materials and parts.

Keith takes to ship-building just as he does to all things: with enthusiasm and great focus. Halfway through a clean-up, he finds a salvageable ship he can actually fly back to the shack. It skims the ground, unable to get any true lift, and it sputters to a stop just beyond the property line of the shack, but it’s a real starting point for Keith.

“Now I can really start,” Keith tells Shiro when they head back to the Atlas together.

By the end of the first week with the Galra cruiser’s exoskeleton, Keith has the tentative shape of a would-be flyer. A small ship, but perfect for little excursions and one-man missions in the solar system.

It makes Shiro’s heart ache to look at it.

“Got a name for it yet?” Shiro asks, watching Keith crawl into the maze of welding he’s working on today.

Keith laughs. “Not yet. Figured it’ll come to me eventually.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready?” Shiro guesses, grinning.

Keith snorts and tosses a rag towards Shiro and doesn’t look too upset when Shiro effortlessly dodges around it. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Need help?” 

“Hand me that calibrator?” Keith asks, gesturing with a pointed toe.

Shiro stoops down to fetch the calibrator and hands it up to Keith. He watches Keith work for a minute, just studying Keith as he goes, effortless and in his element.

Keith glances down at him, side-long and amused. “Got something to say?”

Shiro doesn’t, but he also can’t admit that he’s just looking for the sake of looking. He shakes his head. “Just wondering if you’ve given any thought to what you’ll do once she’s finished?”

Keith pauses in his tinkering, chewing on his bottom lip. He casts a glance at Shiro before his gaze flickers away. He rubs the back of his neck, leaving a streak of grease there before he untangles himself from the curving ribs of the ship and drops back down to the ground in front of Shiro. He shuffles his feet, looking shy for a moment.

“Keith?” Shiro prompts, unsure how to take Keith’s expression.

“I, uh. I thought…” Keith hesitates. “I thought obviously, once she’s built, she’ll need to actually get piloted, you know? Taken out on the open road. Or, open sky I guess?”

Shiro nods. That much is clear, although it doesn’t explain Keith’s sudden shyness. “Yeah.”

“I was thinking… a long trip? Like, across the galaxy.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, weighing his words carefully. The thought of Keith taking off and leaving _aches_ inside of him, but he’s hardly going to say that. “Not sure the Garrison’s going to like that.”

He means it as a tease but it just makes Keith scowl and shrug his shoulders. “I mean… I don’t know. I don’t know… how much longer I want to stay with the Garrison, you know?”

Shiro’s been expecting as much, so he can’t say he’s surprised— but it does stab him in the gut a little, to think of Keith resigning from the Garrison and heading somewhere else. Not that Shiro’s the type of person who needs to see Keith every day or have him constantly by his side, but he’s already experienced enough time away from Keith— working with the rest of the Paladins, while Keith’s distinctly _gone_ , always left a squirmy feeling in Shiro’s gut. That time feels so long ago, being both clone and locked in the Black Lion.

“I don’t blame you,” Shiro agrees.

“Really?”

Shiro shrugs. “The Garrison is… not like it used to be.”

Keith’s mouth twists up. He folds his arms over his chest, shuffling his feet. “Yeah.”

“Remember before everything?” Shiro says, laughing— although he isn’t sure if this topic is actually funny. “Just wanting to explore the stars… learn to pilot. I guess it was like that back then, but obviously the invasion’s… changed a lot of things.”

“It’s a military,” Keith says bluntly.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, running his hand along a metal bar flanking the cruiser, the jutting of what will likely become a wing once Keith fiddles with it. Faintly, he says, “It’s a military now.”

“I know it was necessary,” Keith says, “and it’s not going to change back, not when there’s still so much to do, but…”

“But,” Shiro agrees. “We didn’t sign up to be soldiers.”

Keith looks relieved that Shiro’s the one to say it. Some tension eases from his shoulders and he looks back up at Shiro, nodding. Shiro wonders if Keith worried he’d disagree, if he’d find Keith’s words insulting.

“I’m tired of fighting,” Keith says. He frowns. “I’m tired of them making _you_ fight so much.”

“I know,” Shiro says quietly, leaning against the cruiser’s exoskeleton. He doesn’t exactly curl into himself, doesn’t need to be on the defensive with Keith, but there’s an anxiety clawing up his throat that he can’t control. “But it’s not like we can quit.”

“We could.”

Shiro smiles, wan and barely there. “I only ever really wanted to explore the stars.”

He thinks, privately, that he never thought he’d still be able to do that, didn’t expect to be here standing in front of Keith, fully healthy. But he knows not to say as much and risk upsetting Keith. He sighs, rubbing his fingers through his hair.

“Truthfully?” Shiro says, pausing. Keith makes a soft humming sound, encouraging him to continue. “I feel stuck. There’s a lot expected of me. And I’m the only one who can transform the Atlas. And I just…” He shrugs, dropping his hands until they go slack at his sides. He hasn’t admitted this much out loud yet, and putting voice to the words just makes it all the more real. “Truthfully, I… There’s so much expected of me and I don’t know how to say no to it all. I’m tired, but we’re all tired. I can’t just… turn my back on all that.”

Keith looks down, smothering a scowl. He breathes in once and then lets it out in a slow, controlled breath. Shiro watches him, curious, and doesn’t protest when Keith steps closer into his space, looking up at him with a look Shiro can only describe as mournful.

“They don’t have any right to make you feel that way,” Keith says fiercely.

Shiro smiles down at him, feeling his expression soften in the face of Keith’s loyalty. “It’s not the Garrison’s fault, Keith. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just the reality. And we don’t always get to have what we want, you know?”

“It’s not fair,” Keith insists.

“Mm.”

Keith heaves a sigh. “Yeah. I mean. I can tell you’re not liking any of it.”

“Can you?” Shiro asks, wondering if there’s a crack in his poker face— or if it’s just Keith being too good at reading him.

“I really don’t mean this as an insult, but…” Keith starts, trailing off, as if unsure if he should say it. “You look— not great.”

“Gee. Thanks,” Shiro says, immediately sarcastic to cover the sting of the words.

He loves when Keith smiles and it’s like a dagger. It stabs right into Shiro’s chest, lodged there.

Keith laughs, although it’s a small thing that disappears as quick as a breath. “They’re exhausting you,” he says, more seriously. “And you’re unhappy.”

He touches Shiro’s cheek— a there and gone again touch, quick as lightning— and Shiro knows Keith is frowning at the heavy bags under his eyes, the tension in his smile. He _knows_ he looks tired. He has no right to feel so worn down, not after everything so many people have been through— not after he was selfish enough to keep on living despite everything, in a new body, after all the lives he’s taken directly and indirectly.

He knows the last time he felt any sort of spark— piloting Black, piloting Atlas. Being out in the stars.

But he’s down here on Earth.

Change used to terrify Shiro; change meant something was wrong with his body, something was closed off to him forever. Every moment of time progressing onward meant one more step closer to an end to all his dreams.

Now, he has a long life ahead of him. But he feels stuck. The Garrison is complacency and he feels himself getting corralled into a corner. He doesn’t know how to break away from it— fearing the redundancy of it all, but fearing what will happen if he changes things, too.

Everything feels too inevitable. Shiro’s always hated that— _inevitability._ Nothing was ever inevitable for him. Everything was always something he had to fight for, had to work for, had to kill himself for.

Keith’s sympathy now is the sweetest torture, his brow furrowed and staring right through Shiro. There are so many times when he’s sure he’s laid himself out fully to Keith, that Keith knows everything about him even despite all of Shiro’s careful walls.

Keith was always going to be the man to knock them down, in the end.

Shiro sighs, looking around, watching the licks of wind kick up sand in the desert, little cartwheels of movement in an otherwise still landscape. They fought out here— Voltron and the Atlas— and the Galra invasion swept away what life existed. It looks truly barren in a way that Shiro’s never thought the desert was.

Keith touches his arm, drawing his attention back to him. Keith’s studying him with that same intense ferocity he always directs towards Shiro.

“There are other ways to help, beyond the Garrison,” Keith says. “Not every relief effort on Earth is fueled on by it.”

“I know,” Shiro concedes. He doesn’t sound convinced and he knows that Keith knows it.

Keith squeezes his arm fiercely. “There’re other things. The Coalition itself. The Blades.”

Shiro laughs. “Aren’t the Blades only for Galra?”

Keith hums. “I guess. But there’s been talk about them expanding beyond that. Mom was telling me about it.” He hasn’t moved his hand off Shiro’s arm. “I mean… the war’s over, so the Blades have to change. They don’t need to be a secret organization of rebels anymore.”

“So there are plans to shift to…?”

“Humanitarian relief efforts, mostly? I mean, we still have pockets of Galra loyalists out there, I’m sure,” Keith says. “But what Mom tells me sounds like a good approach. Focusing on helping people rebuild, get better, make good on promises of a better universe. The Blade of Marmora will have to change.”

Shiro nods, processing the words. He looks up at the cruiser for a moment, sweeping his eyes over the metal skeleton of it, its bare bones already forming under Keith’s sure hands.

“And you, Keith? I know you’re no fan of the Garrison,” Shiro says, afraid to look back into Keith’s eyes and see the truth of it. “Are you going to return to the Blades?”

“I…” Keith begins and trails off, thoughtfully. Shiro dares to glance back at him only when Keith draws his hand off Shiro’s bicep. Keith crosses his arms, frowning.

Shiro isn’t sure what to make of Keith’s reticence. Keith looks down, shuffling his feet through the dust.

“The Blades have to change, just like everything else,” Keith says, hedging, his mind on something else that he isn’t quite expressing to Shiro. He breathes in and back out again. “The things that need to change, they’re… I don’t know. I don’t know how it’ll turn out.”

Shiro isn’t sure what to say to that, especially when Keith lapses into another silence, glancing down and dragging the toe of his boot through the sand, tracing out an absent pattern. Shiro watches him, silent and unsure what else to say.

“I’ve been wanting to spend more time with Mom,” Keith finally says, in that little, hopeful voice of his whenever he talks about his mom. “And I know my…” He pauses and looks up at Shiro, his smile gentle. “I know my place now.”

It’s that little smile that undoes Shiro. It makes his heart ache, thudding a steady hammer in his chest.

“I’m glad— I’m glad, Keith,” Shiro says. “You deserve that.”

Keith’s smile grows. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“Whatever you decide, you know you’ll have all our support,” Shiro says, ignoring the way his heart twists up at the thought of Keith _leaving_ , on this cruiser, away with the Blades, away from all of them— from _him._ He has no right to ask Keith to stay. He has no right to feel anything other than proud of everything Keith’s accomplished.

“I know,” Keith answers.

He doesn’t say anything more and Shiro isn’t sure what else to say. The guilt swims in his gut, that he can’t be more excited for Keith. But as he stares up at the ship Keith’s building, all he can feel is the countdown— the time between now and when Keith leaves, when Shiro’s stuck at the Garrison and Keith’s out changing the universe.

-

Most of Shiro’s days are spent doing paperwork and assisting in the clean-up efforts. It’s tiring but necessary work. It’s not anything fancy— it’s not manned missions to Jupiter by any means, but Shiro knows it’s selfish to look up at the stars every night and wish he were out there.

If anything, he’s relieved he still has the desire for it. He’s relieved that, even after everything, he still longs for the stars. It’s something he clings to— a hope, always, that he could return.


	2. Chapter 2

It becomes something of a weekend tradition for Shiro, helping Keith with building his cruiser. Shiro can only get away on weekends, although he knows Keith works on it by himself nearly every night if he can manage it.

On this particular Saturday morning, after he shows up courtesy of a quick-jump from the wolf who’s taken to checking on him each morning, Keith takes one look at Shiro and breathes out sharply through his nose.

“You look exhausted,” Keith protests.

“I do not.”

“You do,” Keith insists, squinting at him. “How late did you stay up last night?”

Shiro smiles helplessly. Keith saw him just last night— during a Paladin dinner— but he’s not willing to admit that he went back to his room afterwards and did paperwork well into an hour that can’t really be considered night anymore.

Keith’s mouth twists up in a frown, likely having guessed the truth from Shiro’s silence.

“Every time the Atlas moves things around,” Shiro says, “I have to sign off on it and make logs of it. She, uh… she’s been redecorating a lot.”

“So not only are you doing paperwork, you’re doing _pointless_ paperwork that doesn’t even matter,” Keith says, frustration coloring his voice.

Shiro’s response really shouldn’t be to smile fondly at Keith and yet that’s what he’s doing— Keith, blazing in the early morning light, his eyes dark and fierce and protective. He wants to memorize everything Keith does and says while he can. He wants to tuck it inside his heart so he can remember it vividly whenever he wants.

“You should go rest,” Keith says.

“I’d rather help you. I’d rather spend time with you, if I can,” Shiro dismisses and maybe there’s something like desperation in his tone because Keith gives him a pained look, some of the fight draining from his eyes. Shiro’s not afraid to milk that sympathy, at least when it’s Keith. He’s not sure if he’d like to be so vulnerable with anybody else, but he’s always been able to trust Keith with this. “I just…” Shiro says around a sigh. “I just want to do something fun for a change. And helping you is fun.”

Keith grimaces and then relents, shoulders sagging. He grabs Shiro’s wrist and tugs.

The cruiser’s coming along nicely. It has an outer hull that Keith’s pieced up and melded together with reinforced plating and alloy-condensing. He’s made great progress, it seems.

“Wow,” Shiro whistles. Keith blushes, looking pleased. “You’ve done a lot this week.”

“It’s looking pretty good, huh?” Keith asks rhetorically, beaming up at Shiro.

Shiro runs an appreciative hand over the hull, his fingers smoothing across the metal and hitting no bumps along the surface. “It’s amazing, Keith. You did this all yourself?”

Keith grins. “Yeah.”

“You’re amazing,” Shiro says, smiling up at the ship, admiring all the new additions Keith’s added over the week. When he turns back to smile wider at Keith, Keith looks a little pink-cheeked, but still pleased.

“Anyway,” Keith says, voice threaded with that quiet shyness he always gets whenever Shiro praises him. “It’s still a ways off. I’ll have to bug Hunk and Pidge for computerized specs eventually, I think. I could try to figure it out on my own, but they’ll probably be better suited for that part.”

“I bet she’ll fly like a dream once you’re finished,” Shiro says, admiring the sleek edges of the ship. She’s coming along nicely and Shiro can just imagine how good Keith will look, flying in a ship he’s designed himself. “You’ve really taken to this project.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “At first it was just a way to pass the time. I wasn’t sure how serious I’d be in making it space-worthy, but now…” He looks up at Shiro, biting his lip. Then he hip-checks Shiro and starts walking towards the opening near the underbelly of the ship. “Come on, I’ll show you the inside.”

Together, they climb up into the ship and Keith walks Shiro through everything he’s put together this week and what he’s hoping to work on today. The inside hull is just as smooth, but still needs an insulating layer and the corresponding bypass layers. That’ll still take a few more weeks, Keith tells Shiro, and that’s not even accounting for life-support and electronic stabilizers for the ship’s interior.

“Right now, I’m just trying to get the thing built. I’ll worry about the mechanics after,” Keith elaborates and Shiro gives an approving nod. “Let me show you what the wolf brought.”

Keith drags Shiro towards the front of the ship to what will eventually be the cockpit. It’s roomy enough despite the ship’s overall size, with plenty of space left for control panels and the like, once Keith’s ready to add it all (likely with Pidge and Hunk’s assistance, yes). Keith gestures towards three seats shoved up against the far wall.

“Which one do you think is more comfortable?” Keith asks. “I’m not sure which ones to go with.”

“The wolf brought these?” Shiro figures that with the size of the cockpit, Keith’ll likely go with just the one seat— leaving plenty of room for the wolf to curl up near him while Keith’s navigating— but there’s potential for two seats if Keith wants to give the option for a co-pilot.

Keith gestures and Shiro relents, dropping into the first seat. He wriggles around, settling. It’s a roomy enough seat, as far as spaceship seats go, with armrests and control pads built into them. It’s no Lion’s chair but it’s better than nothing.

The second seat’s a little bigger but has a strange curve to its backing, likely built for an alien spine. Shiro pulls a face and Keith nods his head. “Yeah, I thought so, too.”

He crowds Shiro into the third seat and steps back, observing as Shiro wriggles and adjusts.

“I feel like Goldilocks,” Shiro teases and Keith snorts a laugh. Shiro stretches his legs out, trying to recline in the seat. He hums. “This one’s nice, too. This or the first one. Whichever you think is better for you… I think you can’t go wrong with either.”

“But which do _you_ like best?” Keith insists.

Shiro considers, getting up to try the first chair again. He switches between the two a couple times, trying out different seating configurations. Once he’s settled with his legs draped over one arm, back against the other, he finally decides, “The first one.”

“Okay,” Keith says with a nod. “First one it is.”

“First one it is,” Shiro parrots.

-

“So,” Keith says, a couple hours later when they take a break from building the interior of the ship and head into the shack for an early lunch. It’s not quite noon yet, but they’ve been working nonstop for hours.

Keith digs around the old cooler he uses for their weekend work and pulls out drinks for Shiro and himself, cracking open the soda and taking a tentative sip. He must decide it isn’t too sweet because he chugs the rest of it. He tosses Shiro a wrapped sandwich; over the last couple weekends, he’s been making sure there’s always enough food for the both of them. Because of course he does— Keith’s always been thoughtful.

Shiro flops onto the old couch with a pleased grunt, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a hefty bite.

Keith jumps over the back of the couch and settles onto the cushions beside Shiro, cross-legged.

“‘So’ what?” Shiro prompts.

“So, if you could go anywhere in the universe…” Keith says around a mouthful of sandwich. It shouldn’t be endearing, and yet here Shiro is, thoroughly endeared. “Where would you want to go?”

Shiro contemplates the question, chewing thoughtfully on his own bite of sandwich. He waits to swallow before he shrugs.

“I haven’t thought about it.” He knows that won’t be a satisfying answer for Keith. He fully expects Keith to fight him on it.

Sure enough, Keith gives a derisive snort and says, “Come on, Shiro.”

Shiro chuckles, folding down the waxed cloth Keith used to wrap up the sandwich, cool to the touch from the cooler’s ice. He considers, weighing his options.

Finally, he admits, “There’s a planet that just recently joined the Coalition. Anterrilyn, I think it’s called? They’re supposed to have lava pools that burn green instead of red. It sounds really cool. I guess I’d want to go there?”

Keith nods. “Where else?”

“Where else?” Shiro asks, picking at a leaf of spinach poking out of his sandwich. He’s fidgeting and he knows it. He hopes it isn’t noticeable. He frowns. “I mean… I don’t know, Keith.”

Keith’s patient, though, not backing down from Shiro’s lackluster answers. His eyes are two burning embers, staring straight at Shiro and not flickering away. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward towards Shiro.

“I know you,” Keith says. “I know there’re other places. So… tell me?”

“Where would I go if I could leave Earth?”

“If you were to go tomorrow, where would you go?”

“… I guess I really haven’t let myself think about it.”

“Why not?” Keith asks.

Shiro shrugs again with forced nonchalance. “It’d feel selfish to just… leave and think only of myself when there’s so much left to rebuild here. So many people who need me.”

“Who in the universe deserves to be selfish more than you, Shiro?”

Shiro can think of any number of people— most of them, indeed, their friends and Keith included— but he doesn’t give voice to it. He doesn’t give voice to the selfish thoughts he’s been fighting for weeks now— feeling that inevitability of Keith’s departure and wishing, beyond all means, to go with him. He doubts the Blades would want a human in their ranks, at least not right away. He doubts he’d lend himself well to the Blades’ particular philosophy. It’s not dissimilar to the Garrison— the mission, the betterment of all— but since he’s been dragging his feet on Earth, he doubts he’ll be doing anything but dragging his feet up there, too. He’s so tired of being a soldier.

“If I think about it, it’ll just make me sad,” Shiro admits in a quiet voice.

Keith nudges up against his shoulder, leaning against him heavily, as if he might try to take away Shiro’s unhappiness just from the contact.

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs.

“What about you?” Shiro asks instead of digging deeper into the idea, hoping Keith will accept it. “Where do you want to go?”

Keith doesn’t even hesitate when he answers, “There’s a fire festival on T’vinb. I want to go there.”

Shiro laughs. “A fire festival suits you, Keith.”

Keith shrugs but doesn’t disagree. He continues to watch Shiro like a hawk, eyes sharp and assessing. Shiro chews on his sandwich so he won’t be expected to keep talking and sips his canned juice. It’s pineapple today— his favorite. Keith must have stocked up.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says and Keith grunts his confusion. “I know these aren’t the best answers.”

Keith must be considering places he’ll go, either with the Blades or on his way to join them. Shiro’s not sure where the Blades’ major base of operations is now, or where Keith might head— likely wherever Krolia will be stationed— but it’d make for interesting pitstops if Keith could control what planets he gets to stay at.

“Shiro,” Keith sighs, sounding both amused and tired. “You don’t have to apologize to me. I just wanted to know.”

Shiro laughs. “Sounds like you.”

Keith hums in answer.

Shiro stays quiet for a beat, really letting himself think about it. “Hmm…” He sighs and says, finally: “I mean, I guess the honest answer is that I’d happily go anywhere?”

Keith nods, just a little.

Emboldened, Shiro continues, “There’s an entire universe out there, Keith. And we’ve only seen just a sliver of it. There’s so much we don’t know or haven’t discovered yet.” He takes a deep breath, something like hope, something like joy, blooming in his chest. “So many people and places and creatures and lives, traditions and celebrations and hopes. Stars and constellations and so many scientific discoveries.” He stares down at his sandwich— such a mundane thing and yet, maybe, remarkable to whatever alien races are congregating on Earth because of the Coalition. “It’s all amazing. It’s all… so amazing and terrifying and we’re _here_. Of course if I had the chance, I’d want to see it all. I don’t even care where I’d start. I’d just pick a direction and go.”

He demonstrates with his hand, zooming it through the air and towards the sky. It’s a helpless gesture. He remembers, distinctly, those months before Kerberos— when he was sure it was the last for him, that by the time he got back, he’d be shackled to a desk until he died. He feels that same crushing reality descending upon him: he’s too valuable to the Garrison to send off into space. The collar around his neck feels tight, constricting. The Garrison will only shorten its leash the more time passes, the more the Paladins prove to be important morale-boosters and poster children for their efforts.

He doesn’t want that for the Paladins. He certainly doesn’t want that for himself.

Keith’s smiling at him, something fond and sweet, one of his barely-there smiles. Shiro coughs, embarrassed by his rambling and ducks his head, fiddling with the crust of his bread.

“Shiro,” Keith says, voice gentle. His smile is so unbearably beautiful that it nearly hurts for Shiro to look at him. “You deserve to see everything.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of deserving,” Shiro dismisses, looking down. He folds up the waxed cloth for the sandwich and sets it down, if only to give him something to do with his hands. “Anyway… ultimately the Garrison’s going to shove me into some… diplomatic speech-giving tour, maybe. I’ll see _some_ things someday. Eventually.”

He glances up at Keith to find his smile faded, something more frustrated pinching his brows, although Shiro isn’t sure if it’s frustration at Shiro’s dismissive words or at the Garrison itself.

“Shiro,” Keith protests. “You don’t know that for sure. There might be more exploration missions again. Not just diplomacy.”

Shiro nearly laughs. He’s sat on his promotion news for a while now— he still hasn’t told anyone. Shiro breathes in and then breathes back out again before fishing in his pocket and drawing out his PADD. Keith looks on curiously as Shiro taps through a few windows and pulls up the letter he received from the Garrison.

He hands it over to Keith, silent as Keith reads through it.

He watches the changes flood over Keith’s face— pride, he thinks, and happiness. But it’s quickly overshadowed by the realization of what such a position would mean.

“Shiro,” Keith says, looking up.

“I can’t exactly refuse an admiralship,” Shiro says with false cheer, grimacing when Keith’s expression splinters. “I think my days of traveling the stars are over, Keith.”

Keith’s hand flexes on the datapad, confusion knitting his brow. “Just because you’d be an admiral doesn’t mean—” He flounders, stopping and then starting again. “It doesn’t have to mean that. They might—”

“Do you really think they’d send someone like me up into space where something could happen to me?” Shiro asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Keith… when’s the last time you saw an admiral, say, go on a relief mission to an off-world base?”

“Well, never,” Keith says, “because the human admirals I knew were all admirals before the Galra invasion.”

Shiro gives him a begrudging look and Keith shrugs.

“I guess…” Keith says, thinking it over, “even for like— Galra Admirals or higher-ups in the Blades, or the rebel forces… Yeah. No. Never.” Understanding dawns and Keith whips his head up to look at Shiro. “You think they’re grounding you.”

“I _know_ they’re grounding me,” Shiro says. “I’ve known they’ve been doing it for months.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Why didn’t you try to stop them?”

“How could I?” Shiro shrugs. “I can’t very well refuse a promotion. Short of getting court-martialed, it’s over. I’m going to be at a desk for the foreseeable future.” Shiro smiles without humor. “They can’t afford to send one of their prizes off into war zones.”

Keith makes a sound, something punched out.

Shiro shakes his head, looking away. “No. I’m too valuable to them. I’ll be stuck here on Earth, training the next generation of pilots, if that.”

Keith looks thunderous, enraged on Shiro’s behalf. And then just as lightning-fast, his expression turns mournful. The changes surge across Keith’s face in quick succession, immediate and devastating, leaving him crushed. Keith’s always worn his heart on his sleeve.

He sets the PADD down and crawls closer to Shiro.

Keith’s hand used to be so small. It’s still small— long and graceful fingers, gentle on Shiro’s cheeks as he touches him, guiding Shiro back to look him in the eyes. Those steady hands drop to his shoulders, gripping tight as their eyes lock.

“You could say no.”

Shiro laughs. “I’d love to see the look on their faces if I just refused the promotion,” Shiro admits. He knows it’s not possible. He sighs out and confesses, “This is all just… a lot, you know?”

“We can think of something.”

And that’s always been Keith. Beautiful, fierce Keith— always trying to save Shiro, every time. As many times as it takes. Even in the small, simple ways like this.

Keith, he knows, would do anything Shiro asked of him.

Keith has saved him far more times than he ever should have been asked to.

Keith’s fingers squeeze Shiro’s shoulders again, his thumbs so close to brushing over his neck. Shiro focuses on that touch, letting it anchor him. He blinks as he looks into Keith’s eyes, so dark and so intense. Always, always so protective of him.

“Shiro,” Keith says, voice soft.

It’s only when Keith says his name in such a way that Shiro realizes just how badly he wants to cry, just how tightly he’s been holding this knowledge, wanting to deny its very existence. How putting words to it now makes it _real_ , makes it inevitable.

 _Inevitable._ Shiro hates that word.

“Youngest Admiral in Garrison history,” Shiro says, voice wobbly. “I should be honored.”

“We can think of something,” Keith says again. Then, with a deep scowl, he adds, “Fuck them.”

He says it with such ferocity that Shiro can only blink in surprise for a moment, the words settling in with definitive strength.

“Keith…”

Keith shakes his head. “No, fuck them. You deserve better than this.”

“Better than being an Admiral?” Shiro teases without much humor.

Keith scowls further. He looks like he wants to insist further, like he wants to jump to his feet and _fight_ , because that’s always been Keith’s way.

“There’s always diplomacy,” Shiro muses, folding up the waxed cloth and setting it down on the old coffee table. “Don’t need to be on the military track.”

“I guess,” Keith says, hands planted firmly on Shiro’s shoulders. “Is that what you want to do?”

Shiro’s smile is a brittle thing. “I joined the Garrison because I wanted to explore the stars. I just wanted to be up there, exploring. I didn’t exactly sign up to save the universe, but it’s what we have to do, right?”

“I guess,” Keith says again, quieter this time. He doesn’t look totally convinced, though.

“We don’t get to always do what we want, Keith,” Shiro says. “I guess that’s what it means to be an adult… We have responsibilities. We— I can’t just walk away from those.”

“Me neither. I know.”

Shiro sighs, closing his eyes, feeling that regret slide through his body, coiled up tight and lodged in his heart. All the things he’d do, if only he could let himself be selfish. If only—

“This isn’t a bad life,” Shiro says. “I don’t regret that you saved me. I don’t regret— being here. That I get to have this choice at all.”

Keith makes a soft, sorrowful sound, and scoots closer to Shiro, his eyes wide and shiny, tears not yet gathered. “ _Shiro._ ”

Shiro can’t think of anyone else in the world who deserves happiness more than Keith, who deserves that certainty and stability. The other Paladins, too, of course. But Lance and Allura speak often of what _we_ want to do; they have each other. Pidge is elbow-deep in new projects and a renewed dedication to scientific discovery. Hunk makes friends easily and never lacks for new alien recipes to try, new cuisines and cultures to explore. Out of anyone, Hunk might be the best suited to diplomacy.

Fighting together in Voltron— and then the Atlas— feels like a lifetime ago, although it’s hardly been so long. It’s only been a little over a year now. They have all the time in the world.

“You’re not done with the stars until you say you’re done with the stars,” Keith says, fierce and determined. He squeezes Shiro’s shoulders tight, a near death-grip. “And anyone who tries to keep you from space doesn’t know you at all.”

Shiro chuckles, and then sighs. “Keith, it’s fine. It is what it is. I wouldn’t be surprised if they start trying to pin all of you down. You’re getting out at the right time.”

He pats Keith’s knee, squeezes once, and drops his hand away. He stares at the sky through the window. There’s one wispy cloud struggling across the horizon. Shiro’s never related to a cloud so much in his life.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says. His hands slide along Shiro’s shoulders, the grip loose but refusing to fall away.

Shiro shakes his head. “Don’t be. It is what it is. If anything, now I’ll have the authority to shove paperwork off onto the captains beneath me.”

Keith makes a mournful sound, clearly not finding the joke funny. Shiro can’t exactly blame him.

It’s really not that funny.

-

Earth’s rebuilding efforts are, overall, going well. At least, that’s what Shiro’s gathering from the briefings— both written and verbal. They send Shiro to the next continent over to give a speech about unity and coming together, and Coalition forces turn out in droves to listen to him.

Shiro’s always been skilled at maintaining his calm, at always seeming in control. Public speaking has never bothered him and certainly he’s comfortable in a leadership position even if, admittedly, he sometimes wonders if he’s worthy of it.

Still, so much of it feels like it’s blurring together. He misses a couple weekends at the shack with Keith but manages to sneak in during week nights to help for an hour or two before he collapses exhausted on the couch. He usually wakes up the next day in his own bed, brought back by the wolf and Keith’s insistence.

Shiro knows he shouldn’t be ungrateful. He’s alive and he’s making a difference. The Coalition forces grow with each day and recruitment into the Garrison has never been higher. He knows that his words have an impact and his presence is, overall, a positive one. It doesn’t help his own swirling, guilty thoughts about his contribution to the war and the destruction therein, but it’s what holds him together even when he’s filling out paperwork for positioning on the Atlas for his crew.

There are many things he misses about the Castle of Lions and Voltron, but certainly the lack of paperwork is one of them, or having a smaller crew— friends as well as fellow paladins— where even the simple luxury of knowing everyone’s names is possible.

He tries not to overthink it most days.

The Garrison has been in disarray ever since Sanda’s death. It’s not a power vacuum necessarily, but a lot of shifting of ranks that leaves everyone uncertain about who’s in charge and who’s doing what. It still startles Shiro to realize that with his promotion to Captain, he outranks Iverson. Part of him still wants to report to him.

He wonders how long the Paladins will be allowed to do as they please, before they’re forced to fall in line within the Garrison umbrella.

But Shiro ducks his head and does his work. He does the speeches. He helps with clean-up. He trains the MFEs and assigns the crew to the Atlas, even with her grounded. He knows, more and more, that the Garrison as an entity is trying to shift him to a desk job. Trot him out as their show pony when they need him but too valuable to let out in the wild without supervision.

Shiro resents it. He doesn’t try to disguise the fact even when he does his best to be civil. He knows it must show on his face.

He knows he can’t keep anything from Keith, in any case. Keith takes one look at him on their regular Saturday building session and furrows his brows.

“What have they done now?” he asks and Shiro admires that about Keith— how he’s always ready to take up arms by Shiro’s side. How it’s always going to be someone else’s fault and he’ll defend Shiro as much as he needs it. Keith’s a loyal friend and Shiro’s never going to deserve him.

“Nothing new,” Shiro assures him. “Just the same as always.”

He knows he’s getting restless and antsy. Maybe if Black were still around, he could sneak out with Keith and just sail to the sky, skim across the upper atmosphere just to feel that taste of it. Hell, he’d settle even for some hoverbikes.

But Black and the rest of the Lions are gone and he has to adjust to this new reality.

Keith shoves his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like he’s ready to march his way back to the Garrison and yell at whoever needs to be yelled at.

“They’re working you too hard.”

He says this every time. It never fails to make Shiro smile, though. Not because the words aren’t true— they’re working all of them too hard— but because Keith’s fierce protectiveness of him carries over even to wrist cramps. He really doesn’t deserve Keith’s friendship.

“You know what would help?”

“What?” Keith asks, eyebrows pinching together.

Shiro smiles softly and says, “Helping you build your ship’s airlock.”

Keith deflates a little. “I… I hate making you work on this every weekend when you have enough going on,” he says, rubbing at his arm absently. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing something else?”

“Never,” Shiro says, insistent. “Seriously. Keith. You have no idea how much just getting to focus on this is saving my life.”

Keith’s expression pinches and he rubs a thumb at the spot between his eyebrows, breathing out. Finally, he nods and jerks his head back. “Okay. Come on.”

They spend the morning hammering and welding the metal into place. It’s work that requires attention to detail and yet allows Shiro to go a bit mindless with it. All there is to focus on is the sound of metal scraping metal, of Keith flaming the torch to life and smoothing the bars together. There’s the bending and the welding and the structuring. By mid-afternoon, both Keith and Shiro have worked up a sweat but made good progress on stabilizing the airlock’s general shape and pressurization valves.

“Quiznak,” Keith mutters, “this really is going to take forever.”

Shiro laughs. “I think this is why there’re usually hundreds of people in charge of building a ship, never mind things like engineers and inspectors. You’re just one guy, amazing as you are. It’s going to take some time.”

“What’s the likelihood that I try to fly this thing and it just explodes instead?” Keith asks, rolling up his sleeves.

Shiro shakes his head fondly. “No way. You’ll soar, Keith.”

He’s maybe being a little too mushy, but Keith never seems to mind whenever Shiro starts waxing poetic about him. His ears turn pink, but he otherwise doesn’t react to the words.

“If only I had some quintessence just lying around. Maybe then this ship would build herself.”

Shiro snorts a laugh. It’s a helpless sound, bursting out of him. As soon as he’s aware that he’s laughing, it only makes him laugh more.

Keith must think he’s being teased because he scowls theatrically— but is otherwise unable to hide his answering smile. “It’s not that funny, Shiro.”

“It is a little,” Shiro insists, but it’s true that maybe it’s just because it’s Keith and Keith makes him happy that he always finds himself laughing with him.

He might be carrying the weight of his anxieties and worries, but things are always easier when he’s with Keith.

Shiro wipes his brow with a small smile, taking in their work. “This is really coming along, Keith. All of it. You should be really proud of yourself.”

Keith looks shy for half a moment before he wipes at his face and drags his fingers through his hair, shoving it off his forehead and bundling it in his fist. It’s long enough now that he could sling it into a low ponytail if he wanted.

“Yeah,” Keith says around a bone-tired, pleased sigh. “It’s really… coming together.” Keith looks around, studying their work over the last weeks with a small smile. “It’s funny.”

“Hmm?” Shiro asks as he picks his way out of the airlock’s floor plan and onto the even ground below, figuring they’ll head back into the shack for lunch.

Keith slings himself through the bars easily, but hangs there, his feet kicking through the air as he settles on the bow of a metal rib.

“You always look much happier out here than back there,” Keith says, like it’s a casual observation. Shiro knows it’s anything but.

Maybe Shiro hasn’t been talking about everything with Keith, but of course Keith would notice. Shiro sighs, looking up at Keith as he kicks his feet through the air, looking down at Shiro with practiced nonchalance.

Shiro huffs and reaches up, gripping one of the exposed metal bars and hauling himself up to sit opposite Keith, the both of them woven in the metal ribs of a ship still in the process of being built. Keith’s ship.

“I _am_ happier out here,” Shiro says. There’s no use in denying it. “I love doing this kind of thing. I don’t know… reminds me of how things used to be.”

“We never built ships together, Shiro.”

“Sure, but we’d fiddle with hoverbikes, right? And remember seeing the Calypso together?” 

Keith’s smile turns as soft as the sun at dusk just before it dips behind the mountains. He kicks his feet through the air and knocks the toe of his boot against Shiro. “Yeah,” Keith says. “Of course I remember.”

“It just feels… easier,” Shiro says. “You know, before all of this started… I mean, before _everything_ ,” Shiro clarifies, looking up at the cloudless sky for a long moment. “All I wanted to do was be in the stars. All I wanted to do was fly up there with you.”

Keith goes quiet, eyes widening just slightly before he ducks his head, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “Yeah?”

“Come on,” Shiro says in a tease, “you know that’s how I felt. I made no secret about it.”

He remembers those early days in the Garrison— seeing all of Keith’s latent ability, the way he grew as a pilot, all that skill and talent. How he just kept getting better and better, blowing all of Shiro’s records out of the water.

Shiro imagined a world where he’d come back from the Kerberos mission and maybe be able to squeeze one last mission out of his failing body— a trip to the stars with Keith as his co-pilot. Hell, he’d been certain that by the time he got back from Kerberos, he’d have to be Keith’s co-pilot instead. He’d have done so happily if it meant they were traveling together.

“Me too, Shiro,” Keith says. He laughs, a soft, faraway sound. “Guess we did that after all, huh?”

Shiro laughs. “Yeah. I guess we did.”

It’s strange to think about— piloting Black and Red, the first time they’d been flying _together_. It’s not the same as manning one of the Garrison’s flyers, but then, nothing can compare to the Lions. Not to mention Shiro’s time inside Black, feeling Keith’s consciousness crying out for him.

“I… you asked me before where I’d want to go, if I was up there,” Shiro says, quietly. “The truth is, I really would go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees.

“And I’d be happy anywhere, as long as you’re there with me,” Shiro says and hesitates, unsure if he’s revealing too much by saying it. There’s an ache in his chest, a sort of longing he can’t put name to— has never let himself.

It’s there and it’s his. He knows that much. But it wouldn’t do to reveal that much about himself.

Keith smiles, though, so gentle and so understanding. He looks up at the sky, as if they’d be able to see the stars in the middle of the afternoon and his smile is faraway, almost wistful.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Anywhere, Shiro. If you were there, too.”

Shiro chokes off a small laugh and nods his head, his heart all twisted up. “That’s all I wanted. You’re so… you’re such a great pilot, Keith. And, I don’t know, it’d be fun to just— get to experience everything.”

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith says, smiling.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Shiro continues. “Earth is… I mean, for most of our lives, Earth is the only home we’ve known. But even when I was a kid, all I wanted to do was be up there flying. And now that I know what’s out there?”

“You just want to be out there,” Keith says. “Yeah… me too.” He taps his fingers along the metal with a sigh before looking back up at Shiro. “Earth’s home but I’ve never really felt bound to it. I mean, I guess it makes sense in hindsight and growing up, it’s not like I could tell that’s how I’d feel. But…”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, thinking back to his childhood of being stuck staring up at the stars. His family always used to tease him about it, good-naturedly.

“Guess that’s what this baby’s for,” Keith says with a grin, patting the flyer. “Gotta get out there.”

Shiro laughs, nodding, even as he feels his stomach drop down through his body. He’ll miss Keith when he goes, but he’s never going to force him to stay— Keith’s like him. They were always meant to be exploring the stars.

-

One month later, when Shiro gets an update on the plans for his promotion, it comes with the familiar feeling of a lead weight sinking through his gut. Shiro breathes out through his nose, reading over the notes and plans— he was right, in the end: it’ll be a giant celebration of his promotion televised and aired to Coalition forces.

It’s a year after the war and everyone’s still obsessed with the Paladins of Voltron, even former ones like him. Of course they’ll want to capitalize on him.

He doesn’t mind being treated as a show-pony, necessarily. That’s been the case ever since he first joined the Garrison and shattered all the records. It’s how he first met Keith, after all— a ploy for recruitment, going to high schools around the area.

Now, though, he doesn’t even have the benefit of doing manned missions. He’s just a horse trotted out, shown off, and brought back to its stable.

Shiro powers down his PADD and shoves it into his pocket. He has his usual Saturday meet-up with Keith to work on the flyer. But once he gets there, his mood hasn’t improved, even with the prospect of working on a ship and spending time with Keith.

He waits for the wolf to show up as he always does on Saturdays to whisk Shiro away. Shiro’s getting a little used to the upside-down feeling of traveling through space-time. He pops back into existence outside the shack. Keith lounges on the porch, waiting for him, one leg bouncing on the step.

He perks up when he spots Shiro, jumping up from his seat to wander over towards him.

And, of course, Keith notices Shiro’s expression before Shiro can even give him a greeting. “What’s wrong?”

Shiro marvels at Keith’s observational skills, as always. He almost smiles. He thinks of the plans weighing heavy in his pocket.

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you have to say is stupid,” Keith says, insistent.

It makes Shiro smile. He nudges Keith’s shoulder gently, palm against his clavicle, and Keith smiles back, leaning into the touch as Shiro drops his hand away again.

“Just got some plans for my promotion,” Shiro finally admits.

“Come on,” Keith says, grabbing Shiro’s shirt sleeve and tugging. “Let’s take a break from the flyer today.”

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks, even as he follows Keith.

Keith leads him around the back of the shack. There’s nothing for miles and miles, of course, aside from desert, but there is the old tree with the old frayed rope from a tire swing. Keith drops down beneath its shade and pats the spot beside him. Shiro breathes a small laugh out through his nose and sinks down next to him.

“Big adventure, I know,” Keith says, settling back against the tree. He looks up at the lowest branch, the swinging rope there. He smiles to himself, nostalgic. “But I figured we could just relax here.”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees, settling. He watches the way the sun slices through the leaves on the tree, dotting the ground with latticed light. “Hey Keith?”

“Mm?” Keith asks, hands folded over his belly and just lounging.

“There’s going to be a ceremony for the admiralship,” Shiro says. “They’ll probably televise it, make it a big deal… you know. Voltron Paladin becomes Admiral. That kinda thing.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees.

“I’ll need someone to pin me,” Shiro says, eyeing Keith carefully. “Do you— do you think you’d be willing to do that?”

Keith pops his eyes open, giving him a surprised look. “Me?”

“Yeah. If you want.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Isn’t that… I don’t know. Isn’t that for someone who’s…”

Shiro shrugs. It’s true that it’s usually reserved for spouses and the like, but it’s not like Shiro has anything like that going on in his life right now. Just a best friend he’s pining for.

“I mean… you’re the person I’m closest to in literally the entire universe,” Shiro says. “But I mean— don’t feel like you have to. Maybe it’s weird. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” Keith answers. “No, I mean. I don’t mind. If you don’t mind, I don’t mind. I’d be happy to do it.” Keith shakes his head, turning to peer up at Shiro. “Thanks for asking me. I mean… I’d be honored to celebrate you, Admiral.”

His smile turns teasing and Shiro coughs, blushing. He shoves at Keith’s shoulder without heat and Keith laughs, swaying away before lurching back into his previous position. He grins at Shiro.

“Are you getting all shy about your promotion?” Keith teases. “You’ll drive all your fans crazy if you blush like this when you get pinned.”

“Shut it,” Shiro laughs, embarrassed. “What fans?”

“I remember the Voltron Show,” Keith teases. “You have so many fans.”

“Ugh.” Shiro barks a laugh. “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m serious,” Keith says, drawing his legs up towards his chest, grinning at Shiro. “If you were to blush during your ceremony, I’m pretty sure men across the universe would throw fits.”

“Please,” Shiro says with a snort. “Don’t be ridiculous, Keith.”

Keith shakes his head, looking fond. “I promise I’ll do my best not to mess it all up.”

“It’s not too hard,” Shiro assures him. “Just pin, pat, and done. The end. I’m very easy to please.”

Both Keith and Shiro have attended pinning ceremonies for promotions before, admiral or otherwise. It’ll be straightforward in that respect. Then again, Shiro _is_ a Paladin of Voltron, so he suspects there’ll be a bit more fanfare if only for the propaganda aspect. And he’s sure the brass will jump at the chance to have Keith pin him— double the Paladins for double the fanfare.

Keith fiddles with a thread on his worn jeans, glancing up at Shiro. “You really want me to do that?”

“Only if you’re comfortable doing it. I promise I won’t be offended if you say no.”

Keith shakes his head, hand lifting to trace his thumb down his scar in his usual nervous gesture. “No. No, I… Thanks, Shiro. I’d be honored to do that for you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Shiro says, blushing. “But… I’d be really happy if it’s you. Thanks, Keith.”

They stretch out under that tree, just watching the sky. It’s hard to do cloud-watching in the desert, but there are desert birds that zip and zag through the air. At one point, the wolf starts chasing one that keeps floating through the backyard low enough to the ground for him to go bounding after it.

Shiro studies Keith’s face as they rest. The cut of his jaw sharpened with time. The sharper edge of the scar slicing over his cheek, no longer as angry red as those first weeks following its marking, but still a distinct burn in his smooth skin. The way his hair curls along the edge of both scar and jaw, nearly falling into his eyes.

Handsome. Unbearably handsome.

Keith chuckles, warm and a little tired, and Shiro knows the feeling. It’s a lazy Saturday, easy enough to take a nap. Keith’s head tips to the side and rests against Shiro’s shoulder and, together, they watch the wolf chase birds.

“I know we talk about the worlds beyond this one,” Keith says quietly, watching the wolf with a fond smile. “But… this is nice, too.”

“Yes,” Shiro agrees. “It’s nice.”

“Last time…” Keith hesitates, waffling, and then says with purposeful lightness: “Last time I spent a long time at this shack, it wasn’t— I wasn’t in a great place. This is better. Making better memories.” His hand falls, touching Shiro’s arm, fingertips ghosting. “I like having this experience.”

Something twists harshly in Shiro’s chest, the blithe reminder of Keith’s time in the desert. He tips his head, pressing his cheek to the crown of Keith’s head. They’re just shy of cuddling and Shiro thinks he should be embarrassed, but it hardly matters when it’s Keith there beside him.

The wolf yips as he barrels up a small hill, chasing birds. He zaps in and out of view, trying to snap his jaws around them even once they’re airborne.

Time stretches long and harsh behind them— and in front of them, too. So much has happened to bring them here to this moment. Shiro doesn’t know what could possibly come next.

Shiro isn’t sure what to say, isn’t sure if there’s anything he can say that can reassure the past boy Keith used to be— just a lost soul in the desert, waiting and mourning.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Keith chuckles and there’s something tight in the sound. “I’m glad _you’re_ here.”

It’s nice to be in the sunshine, warm and satisfied, with Keith by his side. Keith’s head on his shoulder is a welcome weight. By all accounts, it’s a nice way to spend an afternoon.

Shiro wishes he could be satisfied with just this.

-

“I— I think it’s finished,” Keith says one hot day in summer. The desert heat’s killing them both and Keith is pink-faced and sweaty but looking triumphant as he throws down his tools and turns towards Shiro with a grin. “It’s done.”

It’s been a battle of several months, Shiro helping when he can, the other Paladins pitching in when they felt the need, but mostly Keith on his own.

“There’re some adjustments and tests I’ll need to do,” Keith says, breathing heavy as he climbs down from the flyer, landing on his feet with a solid thump. “But— she’s finished.”

Shiro tips his face up to admire Keith’s hard work. She’s a sleek ship— and she looks professional despite her humble beginnings. Looking at her, it wouldn’t be clear that her exoskeleton came from various Galra parts. She looks uniquely her own.

Shiro can’t help but feel a small regret, looking at the ship. The project is over and, with it, the last thing tying Keith to Earth. Shiro imagines he’ll put in his request to transfer to the Blades any day now. This ship will, eventually, carry Keith away from them all.

He wouldn’t ever begrudge Keith any of his adventures. Keith was always like a brilliant star— blazing, sudden, and shining. He was never meant to stay on Earth.

Shiro’s grown used to the ache in his chest. A piece of him is always with Keith, he thinks. He thinks, sometimes, that he wasn’t put back together right.

He’s used to always telling himself the way things need to be. Why things need to be the way they are. He’s been so used to sacrifice, to always wanting, to never having everything he could want.

But the war is over. There’s nothing left for them to do but put the pieces back together. And after that?

After that, Shiro doesn’t know. Suddenly, there’s an entire universe. Suddenly, he has all the time in the world and nowhere to go.

And now, he thinks, he’ll need to say goodbye to Keith. The thought sits heavy, painful, deep in his chest.

“She’s beautiful, Keith,” Shiro praises him. “Well done.”

“You helped a lot,” Keith says, knocking his shoulder against Shiro’s. “Take some credit.”

Shiro laughs and smiles at him and, together, they look back up at the ship, admiring. It’s hard to believe that the ship was once just a collection of parts. But Keith’s always been resourceful and persevering, and it shows in his work here.

“I’ll start running the tests to make sure she’s space-worthy,” Keith says with a nod. He grins up at Shiro. “I can’t wait to test-drive her.”

“Can’t wait to see it,” Shiro says, and congratulates himself on how steady his voice is. Listening to himself, there’d be no way to tell the anxiety building inside him, like it doesn’t bother him that, eventually, he won’t be standing here with Keith anymore.

“Maybe I can get her ready for your promotion,” Keith says. “Go on a joyride.”

Shiro laughs, even as his heart aches at the idea of it— his last chance to be in the sky, his last chance to be up there with Keith. If that’s what it comes to, he’s not going to let himself be upset about it in the moment. He’ll cherish it, every moment of it. He can’t pretend that any of this is what he wants— but he’ll be damned if he upsets Keith or is anything other than excited for him.

The next few weeks, Keith runs his tests and gets signoffs from Pidge and Hunk on some upgrades. He even consults the Holts and an Olkari diplomat, integrating the upgrades and adding finishing touches. He works with Allura on stabilizing the more magical elements of the ship. One late night, Shiro and Keith paint the entire outside of the ship a deep red color.

Once Keith’s finished fiddling with everything, the ship is beautiful. Shiro isn’t sure if it’s because it’s Keith’s ship, or because he had a hand in its creation, but Shiro thinks it’s one of the most beautiful ships he’s ever seen. It’s clearly hand-built, a class all its own, but stable.

“Have you flown her yet?” Shiro asks one day at lunch, the two of them sitting in the Atlas commissary. It’s a typical day of running drills and organizing clean-up parties, and Shiro’s promotion ceremony looms ever closer.

“Only around the desert,” Keith says. “Taking it slow. I want it to be perfect for launch.”

It’s amazing the amount of time and effort Keith’s putting into it. Of course, building and launching ships in the Garrison is a several-year process precisely because of bureaucracy and safety-checks. Shiro knows how long the Kerberos project took, even well before he was ever brought on as the pilot.

“It’s something you built,” Shiro says, “of course it’ll be perfect. You never do anything by half-measure.”

Keith smiles, a secretive, sweet smile, and he shakes his head before shoveling some rice into his mouth.

“It’s true,” Shiro insists. Keith doesn’t need to express his shyness for Shiro to see it plain on his face. It’s sweet. “You’ve been working so hard at this, Keith. It’s going to pay off.”

“Ha,” Keith says once he’s swallowed his rice. “I hope so.”

He drags his fork through the tray of food, mushing it together.

“So, what did Pidge say about the gravity converter chamber’s pressure valve?” Shiro asks, changing the subject before Keith gets too overwhelmingly embarrassed.

“She said that I did a shitty job installing it but that she’d fix it for me,” Keith says and laughs. “That’ll probably help with the stabilization issue I was telling you about earlier.”

Shiro nods, considering. “Send me the specs and I can check it all over, too. I can’t promise I’m as good as Pidge, but—”

“Nonsense,” Keith dismisses, even though they both know Pidge is above and beyond both of their combined abilities. “You’re great with this kind of stuff. Don’t undersell yourself.” He looks up at Shiro, frowning. “But it wouldn’t be too much trouble to send to you? I know you’ve been so busy lately leading up to your promotion.”

“Ugh,” Shiro says, hanging his head. “Don’t remind me. Honestly, your system specs would be a welcome distraction from the monotony.”

Wordlessly, Keith draws out his PADD, taps away, and Shiro hears his own datapad give a cheerful ping in his pocket.

“Sent. But take your time,” Keith tells him.

“Thanks,” Shiro sighs. “You have no idea how eager I am to just do some math equations for once. It’ll clear my head of… I don’t know. Coordinating ambassador visits. You’re saving me.”

Keith sneaks a piece of baked carrot off Shiro’s tray and pops it into his mouth. He tries to take a second one and fails only because Shiro knocks his fork away with his own.

“Well,” Keith laughs, “always happy to be of service, Shiro.”

He says it as a joke but, of course, he has no idea how true it is— how Keith just keeps saving him again and again.

 _Now if only I didn’t make you always have to save me,_ Shiro thinks and doesn’t say, watching Keith try to steal more of Shiro’s food.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro wakes up the day of his promotion nearly forgetting it’s the day of the ceremony. He spends a disproportionate amount of time staring up at his ceiling, lying in bed and feeling sorry for himself. The last few weeks have been nothing but work, and the one solace he feels is that the Garrison gave permission a few days ago for Keith to pin Shiro during the ceremony.

While relieved, Shiro also isn’t too surprised: it makes sense that the Garrison would be eager for the chance to showcase both Shiro and Keith as members of both the Garrison and the Paladins. What better way to showcase the Garrison’s might than two Paladins of Voltron on a stage? Shiro’s only shocked it didn’t try to rope in the others, too.

Shiro doesn’t get a chance to touch base with Keith that whole day aside from a few messages sent through their PADDs. Keith’s camping out at the shack, putting some finishing touches on the ship and, more pointedly, avoiding the Garrison. Shiro’s swamped with general work, paperwork, and standard preparations.

He had a similar ceremony when he was promoted to commander before Kerberos’ launch so Shiro doesn’t really need to practice. It’s just a ceremony in the end. Before Kerberos, Shiro remembers being excited for the promotion, thrilled and proud of everything he’d accomplished. It’d come fresh off his breakup with Adam, so it’d been his commanding officer who affixed his new pin.

Afterwards, he’d shown his new medals to Keith, grinning, the two of them sprawled out on Shiro’s bed— the only thing not already packed up and stowed away for his long journey— turning a medal one way and another so it’d catch the light and blink into Keith’s eyes. Shiro had been so proud of it then and Keith had been thrilled for him, even as he did his best not to let on how devastated he was to eventually say goodbye to Shiro.

But Shiro always loved that about Keith: he’d been sad, yes, and Shiro had hated the thought of leaving him alone for so long. But Keith never held it against Shiro, never tried to drag him back down to Earth or diminish his accomplishments. He was only ever happy for him and proud in his own way. That’d buoyed Shiro far more than he’d ever admitted to Keith.

Shiro doubts he’s going to feel quite as elated as he was back then. Shiro reminds himself that this is all an extreme honor. Given the power vacuum in the Garrison, he should be touched that the brass would place such faith in him at all.

It’s also possible, he reasons, that he can weasel and maneuver some sort of opportunity for him to go off-planet eventually. Diplomatic missions, perhaps, or at least Coalition-related business that’d bring him to important events and conferences.

No, he reminds himself, it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. He might not be that bright-eyed boy from before Kerberos, smiling down at his medal long after the ceremony was complete, long after Keith had dozed off against his shoulder, just holding it in the palm of his hand and knowing that his dreams were finally, finally right there before him. But even if he isn’t that boy anymore, he is alive— and that’s more than could be said of many people, human and alien, in the wake of the universal war.

The thoughts sit heavy as the time for the ceremony ticks closer and he follows the familiar path to the Garrison’s ceremonial stage. It’s one of the inner-rooms, designed to accommodate the vids and reporters, and the Garrison higher-ups. It’ll be publicized, Shiro knows, and he has no doubt that the Garrison has been pushing this event for several weeks. He never quite got around to telling the rest of the Paladins, for instance, but soon the information was ubiquitous around them— Allura mentioned it in passing the other week during the Paladin Dinner and that was that.

Keith is already there waiting when Shiro arrives. Shiro spots him first, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot, wearing his red Garrison coat and fiddling with his hair. Shiro isn’t sure if he’s tried to brush it or at least wrangle it into submission somehow, but it still looks just as silky and wild as it always does.

Shiro swallows back the urge to run his fingers through it, watching the way it curls so sweetly around the nape of his neck.

“Keith,” he calls, shutting the door behind him. Keith startles, whipping around and then relaxing once he recognizes Shiro.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Keith sighs. “I’ve been here for an hour.”

“What?” Shiro asks, moving to him. “Why?”

“Just wanted… I dunno. I didn’t want to be late,” Keith says. He bites his lip, eyes flickering, and then admits before Shiro can actually ask him: “I’m kinda nervous.”

“I’m the one getting promoted here, not you,” Shiro teases, dropping his hand heavy on Keith’s shoulder and giving a small squeeze.

Keith shakes his head. “I just don’t want to mess it up,” he explains. “This is important, you know? A big day.”

Shiro wants to laugh. He also, just a little bit, wants to cry. He drops the hand from Keith’s shoulder to take up his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s just a formality,” he says, hoping to reassure. “You’ll be great. You always are.”

Keith doesn’t outright pout, but it’s a near thing. His brows furrow and he shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks down, like Shiro’s chastised him.

“I just don’t… I don’t want to like... pin it upside down or something. I’ve been practicing with Hunk and feeling like a total idiot, by the way.”

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, aching to touch him again. “You could pin it to my forehead and I’d still be happy it was you doing it.”

Keith’s head jerks up, startled, giving Shiro an utterly bewildered look. Then he ducks his head again, although this time just to laugh. He pulls his hand from his pocket and reaches for Shiro’s hand again, squeezing it before letting go. The warm leather of his fingerless gloves drags over Shiro’s knuckles, warming his skin before he withdraws.

Keith runs his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll remember that.” He gives Shiro a wry look. “Now you can’t complain if I stab you right in the shoulder accidentally.”

Shiro still feels like he’s burning up with a blush, but he smiles at Keith all the same, hoping to reassure him out of that nervous energy. It’s almost charming to see Keith so jittery. Shiro’s certain he must look too endeared, unable to hide his affection. It’s the first time he’s felt happy all day, at least, watching Keith fiddle and adjust in front of him.

Shiro gives Keith’s shoulder one last squeeze before he passes further into the room, collecting the uniform there waiting for him. It’s hardly different from what he wore as a captain, aside from the longer-style coat, the hat, and the white gloves specific to the ceremony.

Still, regardless of the similarities, Shiro’s smile turns a bit melancholy as he undoes the belt to his uniform and unbuttons the lapels, shrugging out of his captain’s jacket. He looks it over one last time, eyes tracing the vee for Voltron’s symbol etched into the breast. Even if Voltron is gone now, it still feels nostalgic to hold proof that they were once all together, as a team, fighting against all odds.

He sets the coat down and shrugs into the long Admiral’s coat. It’s heavier but otherwise mimics his black-and-white color scheme. He’s grateful for that, at least; Shiro’s not sure what he’d do if he were forced back into the Garrison greys, forced to give up his last connection to Black, even if symbolically.

He affixes the buttons and reclips his belt. He puts on the hat and adjusts the white glove over his left hand; the right glove, naturally, doesn’t really fit.

When he turns back to face Keith, Keith’s eyes dart away only to skitter back to meet Shiro’s eyes. He smiles then, tentative and sweet, and Shiro can’t help how his cheeks grow pink at the attention.

“How do I look?” Shiro can’t help but ask, holding out his arms as if about to model, turning in a slow circle to cover his embarrassment. “Do I look like I’m some fearsome Admiral or what?”

Keith laughs, crossing over to him and lifting his hands, fixing Shiro’s lapels for him. “Very fearsome,” he agrees, his eyes sparkling. “I’m terrified.”

“I feel like walking swiftly will just mean tripping over this coat,” Shiro admits. “Not very practical.”

“But think of how dramatic you’ll look storming down a hallway. Cadets will dive into the laundry chutes to get away from you.”

That makes Shiro bark a laugh, his shoulders relaxing. Keith’s fingertips linger a moment longer on his lapels before Keith steps back, smiling up at Shiro.

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro says. He feels happy again, if only for a fleeting moment, and less like the world is crashing down on him. He feels silly in the uniform, but it’ll likely feel more natural with time.

Keith smiles up at him sympathetically. “Let’s go get you promoted, _Sir._ ”

-

At the ceremony, Shiro stands ramrod straight through the list of his accolades, some earned and some, in his opinion, unearned.

It’s a very nice speech, although Shiro can’t help but feel awkward listening to it. It sounds too strange to hear himself condensed down into a series of accomplishments and fights. He supposes it paints a picture of his life in the last few years— fighting, never stopping, protecting.

Shiro doesn’t regret that people rely on him, but hearing the way the Garrison official describes him, someone who doesn’t know Shiro, he can’t help but feel like the Admiral Takashi Shirogane they describe is just a stranger. It doesn’t sound like Shiro at all.

It’s awkward and difficult not to squirm under the unrelenting praise sent his way. He won’t pretend to not appreciate receiving credit when he’s earned it, but he can recognize just how much of it is being played up for the crowd.

And how it was never just him. Everything listed and attributed to him was only possible due to so many other people’s hard work and, sometimes, sacrifice. It feels too much for Shiro to receive the sole credit.

Behind his back, he clenches his hands together, his Altean hand squeezing far too tight against his human, harsh enough that it’s nearly bruising. It’s a reminder as much as it centers Shiro.

Once the speech is over and there’s a round of applause, Shiro manages the smallest smile and nod to the gathered crowd both televised and present. He straightens his back further, shoulders squared, and breathes out. He keeps smiling as he’s congratulated for his accolades and his promotion.

Once the swell of applause lessens, Keith steps to Shiro as instructed. He’s precise and methodical as he pins Shiro’s rank to his shoulder. If Keith hadn’t confessed his nervousness backstage, it’d be easy to not even notice it. Shiro thinks he only notices because it’s Keith, because aside from a clench to his jaw, he doesn’t tremble or look cornered.

Despite Keith’s earlier concern, he’s gentle as he pins Shiro— no danger of stabbing him in the shoulder or pricking him with the needle. It’s quick and painless: Keith steps to him, pins the stripes to his shoulder, and that’s that.

Keith’s hands linger, smoothing his uniform out, fingertips tracing the high collar and resting just at his clavicle. It’s far too intimate for something that should take thirty seconds, but it also grounds Shiro. Keith chuffs a little breath and tips his chin up to look up at Shiro.

“Have I mentioned yet that I like your hat?” Keith asks in a low voice. With his back to the cameras, he can get away with the wicked, shit-eating grin.

Shiro, meanwhile, needs to work hard to keep his expression perfectly schooled. Cool and collected. He knows it doesn’t trick Keith for a moment if the way his eyes twinkle is any indication.

“You do not,” Shiro accuses and Keith huffs another laugh.

He pats Shiro’s chest gently and takes a step back. “Congratulations, Shiro.”

And then it’s over. He’s an Admiral. The entire ceremony takes less than ten minutes.

Shiro waits for the panic to settle in but it never arrives. When Keith steps aside, holding his hand out to gesture towards Shiro and the audience’s claps come in like a rising tide, some polite and some more rigorous, Shiro’s eyes find his family in the front row— the Paladins hooting and hollering. Most importantly, doing nothing to be professional.

Coran even manages a loud whistle with his fingers in his mouth. The others are grinning, hands cupped over their mouths and cheering. Keith even starts clapping, too, overly loud and grin undisguised.

Shiro knows he should be more professional, too. He thinks he should probably be more dignified, but in the face of his friends’ joy, he can’t even begin to hold back his wicked grin and his flushing cheeks.

He even gives a little wave, much to the crowd’s delight.

And then he glances back at Keith, still on stage and clapping, and he feels his smile soften with longing. All he wants to do is reach out and touch Keith, draw him in close, hug him tight in thanks.

Their eyes snag and hold and that, for now, is enough.

-

That night, after Shiro’s ceremony, in the privacy of the Paladins’ quarters on the Atlas, the Paladins of Voltron throw a congratulatory party for Shiro. Shiro thinks it was supposed to be a surprise party, but it’s hard to keep secrets from each other when they’ve essentially lived in one another’s pockets for years. That, and last week Shiro heard Lance talking loudly to Hunk about whether Shiro liked balloons or not.

They must have determined Shiro likes balloons, because it’s the first thing he notices when he opens the door to the Paladin Common Room just before they all dogpile him. Shiro laughs out, shocked, and lets them drag him inside to a flurry of music, drinks, and far too many balloons. He’s pretty sure Lance trips over a small mountain of them. Shiro hits one of the balloons so it goes bobbing through the air, bouncing off Coran’s head, and settling in a pool of other balloons.

“Okay,” Lance tells Hunk, “we might have overkilled on the balloons.”

“You think?” Keith snorts.

It’s a silly party. Shiro feels like he’s a kid again at a birthday party, but it’s perfect because he’s surrounded by his friends— his family— and it staves off the sadness curled up in his chest. Shiro’s always been good at compartmentalizing. He’s always been good at ignoring things that are inconvenient— the consequence of a terminal illness, perhaps.

Regardless, he has genuine fun with everyone. Coran is heavy-handed with the booze and everyone keeps cheers-ing Shiro, and it’d be rude to refuse a drink. There’s a pitcher of what Shiro thinks was supposed to be sangria but has quickly morphed into some horrible wine-nunvill-whiskey combo that makes Shiro feel a little sick every time he sips.

About an hour into the party, Shiro’s slumped against Allura and telling her that her hair’s always reminded him of a cloud.

She’s just as tipsy as he is, if not more so, so she accepts the compliment graciously and informs Shiro that his hair looks like an Altean slumbersnut, whatever that is.

Lance is shouting his way through some bad karaoke, heckled on by both Keith and Pidge. Hunk, drunk off his ass, is trying to mother hen everyone into eating something. He’s holding a tray of vegan pigs-in-a-blanket, although his coordination is off and half of them are on the floor, lost in the sea of balloons.

Hunk’s also told Shiro at least five times that he’s stocked up Keith’s ship with plenty of food-goo and snacky-snacks, as he calls them. Shiro blinks at Hunk after he tells him as much and chugs down his boozier-than-boozy-sangria. He makes an obnoxiously loud smacking sound with his lips once he’s finished and knows he’ll hate himself for the horrible mouth noises once he’s sober.

Hunk shoves a vegan dog in his mouth.

It’s a loud party and a ridiculous party, but it’s fun. Shiro slugs back another drink and joins Lance through a karaoke song, both of them off-key and getting progressively louder than the other. They sway arm-in-arm, squinting at the lyrics on the screen and fighting over the single microphone.

Lance, of course, wins out. He garbles through the lyrics, shouting in Shiro’s ear. Shiro’s too busy laughing to properly manage the lyrics, slinging his arm around Lance’s waist to keep him upright.

“Stop, my ears are bleeding!” Pidge shrieks at some point and lobs a pillow at them. Even drunk, Shiro manages to duck out of the way, laughing.

“Too slow,” Shiro says with a wink, nearly tripping over his feet. He sloshes some of the drink on the front of his new Admiral coat, staining the sleeve a rusty pink. “Oops.”

Pidge seizes another pillow, ready to throw it hard at Shiro. But Keith ducks in at the last minute and throws a pillow back at Pidge in retaliation. Pidge squawks in surprise, especially when Keith shoves Lance away and he goes toppling down onto her on the couch, the both of them cackling.

“I’m singing with Shiro next,” Keith declares. He’s not nearly as drunk as Shiro is but he still wobbles as he plucks Shiro’s drink from his hand and sets it down, then picks up the microphone. He slings his arm around Shiro’s shoulder and stares up at him. “Sing with me.”

“Yeah,” Shiro croaks, his arm slipping around Keith’s waist like he did with Lance before, supporting him.

It’s vastly different to hold Keith like this. His Altean hand closes easily around Keith’s waist— so slight, so tiny beneath Shiro’s palm. Shiro swallows.

Keith’s voice easily drowns out Shiro’s, which is just as well since Shiro’s singing voice is more of a dull roar at this point, too busy laughing still to really sing along. He buries his face into Keith’s hair and just inhales, his nose pressing into the back of Keith’s neck. Keith smells like shampoo and alcohol, all soft at the edges. Shiro wants to bury himself in him.

“Keith,” he whispers, mouth full of his hair, and unsure what else to say.

Keith keeps singing, nearly screaming the lyrics because he knows it’ll annoy both Pidge and Lance. Coran yodels along and steals Shiro’s hat at one point, putting it on his head at a jaunty angle and toasting Shiro with more nunvill.

It’s all ridiculous and _stupid_. But it’s also the most fun Shiro can remember having in a long time. He sways with Keith, keeping his face pressed into his hair, and Keith lets him stay there.

“You smell good,” he tells Keith, managing to land the words somewhere near Keith’s ear, his mouth ghosting across the shell. He forgets to apologize for it.

Keith giggles and elbows him. “You’re drunk.”

Shiro laughs, too, and squirms away from the pointy elbow. But Keith grabs his wrist and yanks him back again so that both of Shiro’s arms wrap around his waist. It leaves Shiro outright draping against Keith’s back, squinting at the lyrics on the karaoke screen. He thinks Keith leans back against him. Shiro hooks his chin over Keith’s shoulder.

They sway like that for a moment as the lyrics pause for the instrumental break. Keith’s hand touches Shiro’s wrist, keeping his arm wrapped there around him.

Shiro’s maybe a little hypnotized by the feeling of Keith swaying— the willowy, sinuous power of his body, how slight he feels in Shiro’s arms and yet how strong. Shiro knows it’d be effortless for Keith to whip Shiro over his shoulder and toss him across the room.

He plucks the microphone from Keith and belts out the last notes to the song as it comes to an end. He’d be all for singing another song with Keith, holding Keith in his arms and swaying in place with him, but then Allura all but shoves the two of them away from the monitor so she and Coran can sing together next, although neither of them knows the lyrics, much less how to read the lyrics in Terran.

Shiro lets go of Keith just before he collapses onto the couch. He thinks Atlas is kind enough to lift the cushions up to meet him halfway, too. He mumbles his thanks to her into the pillow, chewing on the fabric for lack of anything else to do with his mouth. He feels the cushions sag next to him as Keith sits down, too, hissing at Coran and Allura’s rendition of a popular Olkari drinking song.

Nunvill works fast. It always hits Shiro like a freight-train. It always feels like it only takes one sip to take him from level-headed to roaring-drunk. But the opposite is true, too: Shiro lies on the couch, just breathing, and it feels like just a blink and he’s back to feeling perfectly sober. He’s not sure how long he lies here, drifting, all the songs from the karaoke machine blurring together.

But the next time he inhales and looks up, Keith’s still sitting beside him, swaying a bit. Keith blinks when he notices Shiro’s eyes on him and then grins.

“Come here,” Keith shouts over the music, tugging on Shiro.

Shiro practically crawls over the couch cushions, hand nearly slipping off the surface for his troubles. He nearly faceplants into Keith’s lap, managing to avoid it only because Keith catches him and hauls him in closer.

“I have something for you,” Keith shouts into his ear. He grabs Shiro’s hand and tugs, pulling him off the couch. They stumble their way through the party, leaving arcing swaths of balloons gliding through the air from well-placed kicks.

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks as Keith shoves his hand against the Black Paladin’s quarters. The entry pad chirps as it registers Keith’s handprint and the doors snick open.

Keith tugs Shiro inside and Shiro feels his heart racing, eyes darting first to Keith’s bed and then back to him when, guiltily, he’s certain Keith saw the movement. But Keith seems too tipsy for that, eyes elsewhere as he yanks Shiro along.

“I really will trip over this coat,” Shiro mumbles, hardly loud enough for Keith to hear.

The wolf’s curled up at the foot of Keith’s bed, snoozing despite the loud ruckus outside. He lifts his head and blinks at Keith, his tail thumping once on the floor.

“Hey buddy,” Keith coos, voice pitching high. He nearly falls into the wolf as he reaches out both hands to scratch at his jaw. “Heeeeeeeey, buddy… _bud_. Bring me and Shiro to the ship? I gotta give Shiro his Admiral present.”

The wolf assesses Keith and then swivels his head to look at Shiro. He gets onto his feet and Keith drapes against him, burying his face into his fur. The wolf waits obediently for Shiro to step close and grab onto him, too.

Shiro’s far too used to the wolf’s transportation through time-space now and he’s pleased that he doesn’t even feel dizzy when they appear again in front of the shack. The wolf curls up on the porch after snuffing his nose against Keith’s chest, helping him stand up straight again.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, reaching out to grab Keith before he tips forward and topples off his feet. “You okay? I think you need some water.”

Keith tilts and then flops against Shiro’s chest instead, grumbling, nose pressing into Shiro’s coat. Helplessly, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith, holding him steady.

“Got you a gift,” Keith grumbles, biting at one of Shiro’s buttons.

Shiro rubs his back, smiling to himself. He doesn’t see drunk Keith very often, but he’s always adorable. The nunvill will likely run through him soon enough and he’ll be back to being sure-footed. Shiro knows he’s also not sober. It’ll still be several hours before he’s totally sober again.

And, Shiro suspects, they’ll both be suffering hangovers in the morning.

“You can give it to me in the morning,” Shiro tells him, swaying in time to Keith’s swaying.

Keith shakes his head, shoving at Shiro’s chest and glaring up at him. “No. I’m giving it to you now.”

He pushes away from Shiro and wanders with uneven footing back towards the shack. He clicks on the light as he stumbles inside. Shiro follows him, bemused and concerned at once. Keith stomps into the shack and starts digging around through miscellaneous containers and drawers.

Shiro isn’t sure what to do, glancing back at the wolf sleeping on the porch before wandering closer to Keith. He reaches out to steady him, or to steady himself, as they both sway closer towards one another.

Finally, Keith emerges from one of the drawers in an old writing desk with a small package, wrapped up in brown paper. Nothing fancy, and about the size of Keith’s palm. He holds it out to Shiro, looking adorably triumphant.

Shiro takes it, weighing it in his hand. “Wow, Keith, you didn’t—”

“I did,” Keith tells him fiercely and then grins. “Open it. Tell me I did a good job.”

Shiro laughs and unwraps the brown paper. Keith’s gift isn’t in a box, but he’s wrapped several layers of the paper to keep it shielded and in a vague lump form. It takes a few twists of his wrist to unwrap before the gift unveils itself and Shiro’s breath catches.

“It’s a compass,” Keith says unnecessarily and grins.

It’s an old compass, analog rather than digital. Its needle wobbles along the face of it. There’s nothing truly fancy about it— it’s a standard antique compass on a chain, glass and brass. But it’s beautiful.

“Where’d you find this?” Shiro asks, his voice sounding far too hushed. He holds it up to the light just to watch the brass sparkle.

“Alien market,” Keith says, grinning. “The Balmeran selling it thought it was a temperature gauge.” He looks up at Shiro, expression turning hopeful. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Shiro says, running his thumb over the face of it and turning, obediently, until the compass needle is pointing true north, somewhere over Keith’s left shoulder.

“I know it’s not really appropriate for space stuff,” Keith says. “Not every planet has a magnetic field like ours, but… you know. I thought it was nice and I know you like old stuff like this.”

That much is true. Shiro used to have a four-hundred-year-old sextant from the eighteen hundreds, a gift from his grandfather. It’d been rusty and old, unable to be used and purely decorative. But it’d been one of Shiro’s favorite possessions, one of the many things lost in the years when Shiro was declared dead. For the first time, Shiro wonders what became of the sextant. Maybe his stuff was given to Adam. Maybe it was given away. Maybe it’s sitting in some unused Garrison cubby, still waiting for him to come home.

Most likely, it’s been destroyed, along with everything else on Earth.

“I figured… symbolism,” Keith whispers, overly loud in the quiet of the shack. “Always going to point you to where your true north is.”

 _Towards you, then,_ Shiro thinks and blames the alcohol for making him overly sentimental. He laughs quietly and leaves the thought unexpressed, even when Keith peers at him curiously.

Shiro runs his thumb over the compass and, with great care, puts it in his pocket. He holds his arms out to Keith and watches Keith grin and slide into the hug easily. Shiro holds him tight, tight enough that he nearly lifts Keith off the floor, his toes skimming the ground as he leans heavily against Shiro’s chest and koalas to him in turn.

“I love it,” Shiro says again, mouth close to Keith’s ear. He feels Keith shiver. “Thanks for thinking of me, Keith.”

Keith squeezes him tight and whispers, “ _Always._ ”

Keith steps away from the hug after a lingering moment, and Shiro mourns letting him go. But Keith just grips him by the wrist and tugs him back outside. The wolf perks up, as if ready to bring them back, but Keith dismisses him with a wave of his hand and keeps dragging Shiro out into the dusty, star-soaked night.

Shiro laughs, tripping after Keith. “Where’re we going?”

“Here,” Keith says and drops down into a seemingly random spot in the sand. It’s still warm from the sun baking it all day, still radiating heat even hours past dusk. Keith settles and then flops onto his back, grinning up at the sky. “Shiro,” he says, scolding. “Come here.”

Chuckling, Shiro lies out beside Keith, stretching out in the opposite direction so their heads are parallel, pressed nearly cheek to cheek.

“Look,” Keith says, gesturing above them. Shiro knows the stars in the desert like the back of his hand, all the constellations and all the far-away places. What floors him most is that, now, they can look and know where some of those places are. Shiro loves the star Olkarion orbits— always hanging in the westernmost part of the sky in the summers.

“I’m looking,” Shiro assures him, turning his head to look at Keith instead, his cheek brushing his. His nose divots against Keith’s smiling cheek.

Keith tilts his head away with a huff and jerks his chin up. “Look at the _stars._ ”

Keith is ornery when he’s drunk and Shiro chuckles before he looks up obediently, admiring the stars as instructed. He hardly needs the command. Mars is out tonight, a pretty red dot in the middle of his view.

“The others will wonder where we went,” Shiro says and blushes at the thought of it— of their friends watching them disappear into Keith’s room without coming back out again.

He can smell Keith’s shampoo even out in the desert, wafting on the breeze.

“Bah,” Keith says eloquently. He points. “Where do you want to go first?”

“Huh?” Shiro asks, blinking up at the stars. It’s remarkable to think that all of this is just the Milky Way, everything in their intergalactic neighborhood. There’s so much more out there. Shiro wants to see it all, wants to spend the rest of his life seeing as much of it as he can.

“In the ship,” Keith elaborates. He sounds a little more lucid but still just as demanding, voice drunk-soft.

Shiro chuckles, thinking about tomorrow and the next day— training regimens he’ll need to sign-off on for the MFEs and the next group of fighters, tours to diplomats and ambassadors he’ll be expected to give, speeches about the glory of the Garrison. Maybe he’ll get to oversee the new ships being built for the Garrison— fighter pilots, meant for upper Earth atmosphere, but no space travel.

He’s seen the plans on his desk for weeks, beneath wall after wall of security clearance. There’s a list of itineraries sitting on his desk for Monday, listing all his new duties and expectations.

Shiro thumbs absently at the new stripes on his uniform, knows he’ll need to get the jacket dry-cleaned now that he’s rolling around in the sand with Keith in addition to the sangria stain. He’ll find sand in his hair for weeks after this. The fabric still feels too heavy, pooling awkwardly around his hips where he lies out.

Keith’s eyes follow the movement, the way Shiro’s fingers trace along the insignia and stripes of his new rank.

“I don’t know,” Shiro admits, dropping his hand away so it rests on his chest instead. “I haven’t let myself think too much about it. Why think about what can’t happen?”

Keith frowns, and twists himself all around so he can get a better look at Shiro. His eyes are so intense. They look like the stars themselves. Keith’s always been starlight, Shiro thinks moonily.

“Watch the stars, Keith,” Shiro teases, but Keith ignores him. He props himself up onto one elbow so that he’s peering down at Shiro instead, scrutinizing him.

“We could go anywhere,” Keith tells him, strangely insistent. “I’ve run all the tests. The ship’s ready to go. All I have to do is pilot her.”

Shiro hums, his heart plummeting down into his stomach. He’s sure his smile must turn brittle.

“I’m happy for you.”

Keith frowns deeper, leaning over Shiro, nearly blocking out the stars themselves. That’s okay, Shiro thinks— he’s used to the view of the universe from the ground. He’d rather get lost in Keith’s eyes, glowing and sparkling with an endless night sky.

He’s beautiful. Shiro wants to always be lost in him.

What he says next, Shiro blames entirely on the nunvill: “You know,” Shiro says, his voice wispy soft and thick with longing, “I’m really going to miss you, Keith.”

“What?” Keith asks, giving him a puzzled look, his head tilting adorably to the side so his hair spills along the line of his jaw. “Where am I going?”

Shiro blushes. Maybe it’s too sincere, too exposing, to admit as much as he has already. He shifts a little in the sand, wriggling down to make an indent of his body, to let the Earth cradle him.

“When you leave,” Shiro elaborates. “I’ll miss you when you go.”

“When am I leaving?” Keith asks, looking like he’s torn between frowning and laughing.

Shiro doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol making them both dumb-mouthed. He stares at Keith expectantly, but Keith doesn’t offer anything in response.

Feeling too exposed still, Shiro fidgets, digging his boots into the sand and fumbling with his Altean hand. When he fails to get a good grip on anything, he scrubs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. His fingertips nearly ghost across Keith’s cheek with how close he’s leaned down towards Shiro.

“… Aren’t you leaving to join the Blades? You know, to help their transition to a humanitarian organization?” Shiro asks.

Keith blinks at him. It takes a moment for the words to settle, but when they do, his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “Shiro. What? No. I never said I was doing that.”

Shiro lies there in a stunned silence, unsure what else to do other than blink stupidly at Keith. He’s _sure_ that Keith said as much, months and months ago, but now when he tries to recall the conversation, it’s too far away; the words don’t come. He must look like an idiot, drunk and half-emotional while lying in the sand. He’s just glad he didn’t start crying over the idea of Keith disappearing into the sky, a comet there and gone again.

Keith’s brow furrows as the silence stretches. “Is that why you’ve looked so bummed out lately? I thought it was just because of your promotion, but…”

Shiro swallows and shrugs helplessly. There’s no sense in trying to save face. “I, um… I guess?”

Keith opens his mouth and then closes it again. He looks absolutely taken aback. Keith sits up and Shiro’s quick to follow him, so fast his head swims and he feels dizzy. He twists around to face Keith, folding his legs into a criss-cross. Keith shuffles closer, legs tucked under him.

His hands fall easily to Shiro’s thighs, leaning in closer, his eyes wide. “Shiro,” he says quietly. “I _told_ you. Why would I leave when I know where I belong? With you.” He coughs. “All of you.”

His hands lift, as if to reach out for Shiro, but unsure where to place his hands. They fall back into his own lap instead of returning to Shiro’s thighs. Keith leans back, swaying out of Shiro’s space. Keith looks that mix between drunken confusion and genuine, stone-cold sober confusion.

“I mean, yeah… I’m planning on leaving,” Keith says, and Shiro feels his heart plummet again. Keith stares up at him and adds, “But you’re coming with me.”

“Huh?” Shiro asks stupidly. He has absolutely no idea what to say following such a bold statement.

It’s done. He’s an Admiral now. He’s not going anywhere.

Keith’s eyes widen and he scrambles closer, kicking up a pile of sand between them, his knees digging into the ground.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, breathless, and this time when he reaches out, he grips Shiro hard by his shoulders, staring into his eyes. “I thought you _knew._ ”

Shiro shakes his head. “No.”

Keith’s expression scrunches up and in any other circumstance, Shiro would find it absolutely and utterly adorable. This seems to be a sobering conversation, though, because Keith looks less drunken-fuzzy and more determined-frenzied. His grip on Shiro’s shoulders is unwavering.

“Did you really think I’d just _leave you_?” Keith whispers, hushed.

Shiro’s heart leaps up into his throat, all twisted up. He shakes his head, unsure how to put to words what he thought. Now, it feels so ridiculous to think it. Keith’s eyes are stuck on him, not looking away. It’s always been so intense to be beneath Keith’s scrutiny. He’s afraid to reveal too much.

“What sort of leader would I be if I just up and left my team?” Keith teases, voice going soft at the edges, his hands gentling on Shiro’s shoulders.

“Voltron’s gone, Keith. I don’t think anyone would blame you if you wanted to do good in the universe elsewhere.”

Keith laughs gently, his eyes going soft as he looks at Shiro. “Voltron might be gone, but we’re still here, Shiro. All of us.”

Shiro laughs, a small, hiccupping sound. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, Keith.”

“I really… I thought that maybe we could go out into space together. You know, the two of us.” Keith flounders, suddenly looking shy. His eyes dip away, hidden behind his bangs as he ducks his head. “I mean… If you wanted to. I thought you wanted to. I mean, that’s why you’ve been helping me with the ship, right?”

Shiro can’t breathe. The air leaves his lungs and he sits there stupid and numb, stuck in the sand with the love of his life— and utterly floored at what Keith is telling him.

He really is an idiot.

“I— I don’t know if I can, Keith,” Shiro admits, and it’s painful to say it— to have everything he ever wanted offered to him only to snatch it away again. “There’s no way they’re going to let me go now.” Shiro sighs. “I think my ship’s sailed, you know? I think I’m stuck here.”

Keith frowns. “We’re all still young,” he says, staring into Shiro’s eyes. “We still have time. We have all the time in the world. So why not let yourself enjoy it? You weren’t made to be someone stuck behind a desk, watching everyone else live their lives.”

Shiro knows he’s right.

He hesitates, though. He feels the ground swallowing him whole, dragging him back down into reality. He thinks of all the people relying on him. All the responsibilities waiting for him.

He has no right to be selfish.

“I always…” Shiro hesitates, unsure how to say the words without sounding dramatic, without upsetting Keith further. He sighs. “I always feared I’d get grounded. That I wouldn’t get to see what amazing things everyone—” _you_ “— got to accomplish. But it’s happened. What can I possibly do now?”

He thumbs at his collar, and gestures derisively towards his new rank.

“Admiral Shirogane,” Shiro mutters and nearly flinches at the bitterness saturating his own words. “The youngest Admiral in Garrison history. Fucking hurray for me.”

Keith flinches a little, too, eyes blazing. Shiro so rarely swears, so likely the words landed. But the blaze in Keith’s eyes ignites, turning into a fire— fierce and unrelenting.

Keith scowls. His hands grip Shiro’s shoulders tight, tight enough to bruise. He refuses to let go.

“Voltron’s gone. The Garrison isn’t what it used to be. We both know that.”

They’ve both said as much to each other. Shiro nods, waiting— he can tell that Keith has more to say.

Keith licks his lips, hands flexing against Shiro’s shoulders. “The Garrison mattered to us once. But that’s the past, Shiro.” Keith sucks in a sharp breath, sitting up a bit on his knees, putting himself high enough that he leans over Shiro, still staring into his eyes. “We can start our own chapter now.”

“Keith—”

But Keith interrupts him with a sharp shake of his head. “I know. You think you can’t be selfish, right?”

Shiro’s lips thin. He gives another small nod.

“Listen to me, Shiro,” Keith whispers, voice quicksilver in the night. “Don’t ask whether you can or can’t.” Keith takes a deep breath. “Just answer me this: do you _want_ to go with me or not?”

Shiro’s eyes widen, unable to breathe. The ship looms behind them. The wolf lounges on the shack’s porch. The sky is swept with stars, stretching out endlessly above them. They could go in any nameless direction.

And deep in the distance, the Garrison waits, their friends wait, partying on the grounded Atlas.

Shiro is at a crossroads. He knows whatever he says, Keith will accept it. He knows that if he tells Keith no, Keith will nod, draw Shiro up into a fierce, apologetic hug, and then bring him back to the Atlas. They’ll keep drinking and nurse their hangovers in the morning, and Shiro will move into his new office and accept that he’ll never fly again.

But if he says yes—

He looks into Keith’s eyes and finds Keith looking back at him, steady and sure.

Slowly, Keith’s hands lift from Shiro’s shoulders and slide up his neck, cupping his cheeks, his fingertips tracing his jaw.

“Shiro,” Keith implores.

“If I say yes,” Shiro says, quietly, cautiously, watching Keith’s eyes flicker across his face, “what does that mean?”

Keith smiles, tucked into the corner of his mouth. He looks, for one flashing moment, almost wolfish. Like he could just lean down and swallow Shiro up in one bite, hold him steady and never let him go.

His hands feel like a brand on Shiro’s blushing skin.

“What do you think it means, Shiro?” Keith asks.

Shiro swallows again, licking his lips. “The Garrison—”

“You think I’m going to let the Garrison stop me if it means making you happy?” Keith asks, cutting him off smooth as silk.

Shiro laughs, overwhelmed, his throat feeling tight. “Don’t you ever get tired of having to save me, Keith?”

He hates how wobbly his voice sounds even though he knows Keith will never judge him for it.

Keith snorts, like the idea is laughable. “Never.” He tightens his hold on Shiro’s cheeks and leans in closer, his eyes a burning fire. “ _Never,_ Shiro. As many times as it takes.”

Shiro laughs again, fighting back the sting of tears that threaten the backs of his eyes. He feels Keith’s hands shift against his cheeks, his thumbs swiping over his cheekbones, following the frayed lines of his scar.

“Shiro,” Keith says, serious and serene in the way only a man with a determined path can manage. “Do you want to go with me?”

He asks it again. And he waits.

“Of course I do, Keith,” Shiro answers, because there’s no sense in hiding that truth, no sense in denying that it’s always been true. He never wants to lie to Keith and surely by now the desire is plain on his face.

Keith’s eyes light up, his fingers flexing against Shiro’s cheeks. He drops his hands away, as if realizing where they’ve been resting. But they keep looking at each other.

Shiro smiles, just on the edge of pained. “But it’s not like I can request leave now. They’ll never accept it.”

Keith snorts again, eyes burning. “What’s stopping us from just going? Ask for forgiveness, not permission, Shiro.”

Shiro barks another surprised laugh. “Sounds like you’re planning on kidnapping an Admiral, Black Paladin.”

“That’s how I got us both into space last time, isn’t it?” Keith’s eyes twinkle wickedly. “It’s laughably easy to get you away from the Garrison.” Keith tosses him a sharp grin and Shiro knows, instinctively, that Keith isn’t even close to teasing or joking. He means every word. “The Garrison’s got _nothing_ on me when it comes to you.”

Shiro just keeps laughing, shocked and probably close to hysterical at this point. “Wow.”

Shiro’s still standing at that crossroads. He could let it go now. Shiro turns his head, looking over at the flyer— the ship they both built together. His ticket off this planet. He licks his lips, his throat dry, the desert warm beneath them. The only home he’s ever truly known.

The stars above call out to him, an endless ocean waiting to be explored, Keith by his side. Everything he’s ever wanted, just there beyond his reach.

But could be his.

He knows Keith would steal him away in a heartbeat. He knows Keith would take the brunt of the reprimand, would take all the blame. Shiro knows he can’t ask that of Keith, knows he can’t cause more trouble for Keith than he already has, countless times over.

There should be paperwork. He needs to resign. Ask for extended leave. Get things packed. His affairs in order. _Anything._

No, he can’t just up and leave. He’ll need to find a replacement. Train someone to take over his duties while he’s gone. If he leaves, he’ll be court martialed. Dishonorable discharge. Jail time, if they’re feeling particularly unforgiving.

There are projects to wrap up. Things to delegate. Diplomats to make apologies to. Meetings to reschedule.

It’s all crushing him down. He can’t possibly just up and leave.

Just as the thoughts threaten to drown Shiro, Keith reaches out and touches his arm. Shiro stares into his eyes, so dark and so expansive, on a mission now. It grounds him.

“Don’t,” Keith whispers, sensing how Shiro’s swirling, anxious thoughts crest over him. Keith cups the back of Shiro’s neck, clinging to him, staring into his eyes. “Let me do this for you, Shiro. I know how much this has been killing you. Please.”

It’s Keith. It’s always been Keith.

Keith’s smile stretches, devilish and that exact bad boy vibe he always gave off at the Garrison. Shiro understands why so many people always swooned over Keith’s mystery. But Shiro knows the truth of it, he sees how sweet at the edges Keith is.

Shiro sighs out. “I don’t know, Keith. I can’t put that on you.”

Keith shakes his head. “Exploring the stars with my best friend in the entire universe?” Keith asks rhetorically, shrugging. “I can’t think of anything better than that.”

Shiro’s breath is a punched-out laugh, barely bubbling out of his tight throat. He blinks a few times, clearing his vision. “Wow,” he breathes, wondering. “My hero.”

“Come with me,” Keith whispers, the sky stretching above him, a crown of stars haloing his midnight dark hair. “Come with me, Shiro. Let me take you away.”

His hands are soft where they touch Shiro.

And Keith has no idea how tempting the words are, how desperately Shiro wants to say yes, how completely he wants to fall into Keith’s arms and run away. He can almost imagine it’s romantic, that Keith wants the same things he does. But, as always, it’s only Shiro’s selfishness— and Keith doing everything he can to make Shiro happy, as if Shiro’s ever deserved such devotion.

_Let me take you away._

The compass in his pocket, Shiro knows, must be pointing at Keith in this moment. The thought of returning to the Garrison after all this is unbearable.

Shiro knows he’s made his decision.

“Yeah,” Shiro finds himself saying, his heart kicking up in his chest. “Yeah, Keith. Take me away.”

Keith’s face splits into a wide, delighted grin— like he didn’t expect Shiro to say yes. He’s nodding and Shiro sucks in a sharp breath as the words settle, as the reality of it settles. There’s no way he’ll get the leave request processed or accepted. It’s a fool’s errand from the start.

But it’s worth it, to see how happy Keith is.

“We can leave tonight,” Keith says.

“We’re drunk,” Shiro answers. “We can’t pilot that thing.”

Keith frowns, like that hasn’t occurred to him. “In the morning, then. It’ll give us a chance to say goodbye to the others, too. Let them know we’re okay.”

Shiro blushes and laughs, wondering. “You really want this, Keith?”

“With all my heart,” Keith swears, eyes bright and fierce. Shiro blushes more and Keith laughs. He ducks his head, his ears turning pink. “I just… I mean. You really didn’t know this is what I was planning?”

“I really didn’t,” Shiro admits. “I really had no idea you were building the ship for us. I thought…I thought you were going to leave to rejoin the Blades.”

“I told you,” Keith insists. “I know my place now.”

Keith looks so boyish for a moment, eyes wide and clear as he stares up at Shiro. Shiro thinks, not for the first time, how nice it would be to stoop down and kiss him. And, as always, he holds the urge back.

Keith sighs. “The Blades are… I mean. I don’t regret my time with them. I learned a lot and it was good for me to have a purpose. I— I needed it. And because of them, I was able to find my mom again and learn more about myself.” Keith sighs again, something heavy in his eyes. “But it’s… I don’t know. There’s a lot about it that should change. And there’re some things that— I don’t know if it was the best for me.” Keith shakes his head, looking up at Shiro again. “I don’t want to leave you— any of you again. Not if you still need me.”

“Of course I—” Shiro swallows. “We still need you, Keith. Of course you always have a place here. It’s… it’d never be the same without you.”

Keith laughs softly. He’s beautiful when he laughs, Shiro thinks pitifully. He smiles down at Keith, happy to see him looking so carefree. Knowing that the world stretches out before them, a future where they can be happy. He’s only ever going to be grateful for that.

“Keith,” Shiro says seriously. “Even if we didn’t _need_ you, we’d still want you here. Always.”

“I know. I know that, Shiro.” He breathes in, his smile turning wobbly. “I’m glad I know that now.”

Shiro fumbles, unsure what to say, unsure what words will put voice to what he’s feeling without being too revealing. He loves the idea of being out there with Keith, just the two of them, just the way they always dreamed of it, but a little different. They’ve spent months working on the ship.

All he wants, really, is for Keith to be happy.

“So… what now?” Shiro asks.

“Now,” Keith says fiercely, eyes sparkling. “I kidnap an Admiral.”

-

Shiro and Keith use the wolf to take them back to the Atlas where Shiro stumbles out of Keith’s room and hurries to his own, shoving necessities into a knapsack. It’s the quickest he’s ever packed, following the impulse before he can second-guess it.

He writes up a message to Veronica, leaving it in draft form. He’ll send it at the last possible moment, a time when it isn’t possible to stop him. Even as he’s typing the message up, he thinks it’s unlikely he’ll actually follow through with this. Some part of him thinks this is still a dream, that they’ll sober up and Shiro will drag himself to his new office in the morning and resign himself to misery.

Keith will come to his senses when they’re both sober, when the cold light of morning greets them. He’ll laugh at the very idea of stealing Shiro away in the night.

If they really leave, they’re looking at a dishonorable discharge or even a court martial when they come back.

Shiro’s in the middle of packing when Keith slips into his room, leaning against the door once it shuts and just watching him.

“You’re really going to go with me, right?” Keith asks in a little voice.

Shiro turns towards him. “Keith,” he says seriously. “If we really do this… you’re looking at serious repercussions. For both of us.”

Keith shakes his head. “There’s no way they’ll actually court martial us,” Keith says. “Leaders of Voltron? Pilot of the Atlas? Newly minted Admiral? Heroes and defenders of the Universe?” Keith walks towards Shiro, snagging up Shiro’s favorite hoodie off the back of his desk chair and tossing it towards Shiro’s bag. “They wouldn’t dare. They’ll retroactively pretend like it was their idea and let us go. They won’t be able to catch us.”

Shiro has always admired Keith’s confidence, but he wonders if in this case it’s misplaced. It feels salacious, to run away with Keith in the middle of the night, to launch into space on a ship they built together. He shoves his hoodie into his bag.

“Or,” Keith says quietly, once he’s standing at Shiro’s shoulder. “We can forget it. If you want. It’s whatever you want, Shiro… I’m with you no matter what you decide.”

Shiro laughs. “When did this all start to feel so serious? We’re drunk.”

Keith shakes his head and says nothing else, staring up at him.

Shiro sighs. “What choice do we have? You keep saying it yourself… it’s— this isn’t what we wanted. I don’t think it’s what any of us wanted. I can’t…” He sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t keep doing this.” He’s never admitted it out loud, but he knows he can now. Quietly, he whispers, “It’s killing me, Keith.”

Keith makes a sound, mournful and soft. “I know,” Keith murmurs. “I know, Shiro.”

They stand there in silence, letting the heaviness of those words settle over them.

Keith breathes out shakily and grips Shiro’s wrist. “But… we can go to that fire festival. We can go to the lava pools you wanted to see.” He smiles, heartfelt and sweet. “We can go _anywhere,_ Shiro.” He laughs, “Pick a direction and go. Just be.”

“Just be,” Shiro whispers back.

Keith grins at him, wicked and delighted.

“You’re right,” Shiro says, looking around the room. In the time since the Paladins have moved to the Atlas, the room hasn’t quite felt like his. Never fully home. He looks back at Keith and shakes his hand free from Keith’s grip, but only so he can catch Keith’s palm and squeeze tight. “This is what I want,” he tells Keith. “I want to see the universe with you.”

Keith nods. Something goes misty in Keith’s eyes for half a second before he blinks it away.

“Let’s tell the others,” Keith says. “Let’s go, Shiro.”

-

The others are so drunk that even if Shiro expected them to protest, they aren’t actually able to.

Allura shouts loudly that the Garrison can eat some Nardtybin eggs, loud enough that Coran looks vaguely scandalized by her language.

Hunk shoves food from the party table at Keith before he collapses in a heap of balloons.

Pidge shoves a calibration multitool into Shiro’s pocket and whispers, “I’ll fucking hack their— hacks.”

Lance shoves his face up and tries to plant sloppy kisses on both of their cheeks— only to get shoved away brutally by Keith.

“We’ll leave a note,” Shiro tells Keith after their last failed attempt at communication. Coran snores loudly, face shoved against Lance’s armpit.

Keith shrugs and accepts it. “You’re right that we need to sober up before we try to fly.”

It’s a long wait until morning. Shiro and Keith drink their weight in water and then, at around five AM, their weight in coffee.

They use the wolf to dart between the Atlas and the shack, packing up their things into the flyer.

By the time they’re able to shake everyone awake enough to say goodbye, they’re all still half-drunk and fully hungover enough that all they can manage are some sloppy hugs. It seems that it was only Shiro who hadn’t gotten the memo about their little road trip, he thinks, as Hunk slaps him on the back and warns him to heat up the food goo in the ship to at least one hundred degrees before consuming.

Keith and Shiro stand together at the threshold of the Paladins’ quarters. Shiro knows this is the last chance, both of them here in the cool light of early-morning. No turning back now.

Keith looks around the room thoughtfully, his arms crossed and running his thumb along his cheek scar absently.

Then he looks up at Shiro, smiling. He looks like he’s been punched in the face with drink, but nothing orange juice won’t fix.

“Ready?” he asks, voice gravelly and a little thick with lack of sleep.

Shiro feels like his head’s been hit with a sledgehammer, but he also can’t quite regret it. He smiles, feeling sleep-soft and, frankly, a little ready to die.

“Ready, Keith.”

Keith takes a breath, looking around the room one last time. Keith’s eyes sweep over Shiro’s uniform, a grin tucked into the corner of his smile, barely held back.

“Well… _Admiral,_ ” Keith teases, eyes flicking back up again to catch Shiro’s eyes, the grin blooming over his face. “Shall we?”

Shiro hums and tips his head demurely. “Lead the way, Black Paladin.”

Keith barks a laugh, looking so unspeakably young and handsome as he reaches out and catches Shiro’s hand. His hand looks so small, tucked inside Shiro’s Altean hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice— only tugs, only pulls, and starts running.

It’s ridiculous, to run down the Atlas’ halls, and yet they are. Shiro can feel Atlas rearranging the hallways for them to give them the easiest journey down. Keith’s hair streams behind him, his grin infectious, and Shiro’s always been helpless to follow Keith, always knew that he’d follow Keith’s light across the universe— always knew he’d do amazing things.

They nearly tackle the wolf when they get outside Atlas’ hangar, the last of their bags slung over their shoulders, and together they wink out of existence and reappear at the shack.

Keith runs, unbidden, unembarrassed, towards their flyer. It rises up to meet them and Shiro laughs, delighted, carefree, and knowing his face is doing something moony and ridiculous. And he doesn’t care.

Once they climb up into the ship— _their_ ship, Shiro thinks happily— it feels so surreal. It’s nothing like designing and building the ship. They’re buckling into the seats, actually operating it.

“Bad time for it to just explode once it hits the upper atmosphere, right?” Shiro teases.

“I had it triple and quadruple checked these last few weeks,” Keith assures him. “Good thing, too, since _someone_ didn’t realize we’d be going.”

“Shush,” Shiro laughs, feeling too delirious to be truly reprimanding.

He remembers the first time he ever launched into space, how that excitement was curtailed by anxiety. This time, there’s nothing like that, only joy and expectation— only surety that Keith will get them up safely.

The ship hums to life around them as Keith flips the switches and powers up the engine. The ship is small, but powerful— and Shiro’s always appreciated that combination.

The wolf yips behind them, settling on his side against the far wall.

Once they break atmosphere, they’ll need to send coordinates to the newly built wormhole port. It’s been a year-long project, setting up wormhole coordinators in different sectors, and with all the incoming Coalition traffic to Earth, it’s been necessary to set up a permanent wormhole.

They should have timed it well enough that there’s no way to stop their passage. By the time the Garrison gets in contact with their ship, they’ll be on the other side of the galaxy, passing through wormhole relays.

Unstoppable.

It’s really happening.

Shiro braces himself as the ship skips through the air, as they lift and they lift. The air outside them thins, the world turning colder, and the sky darkening from beautiful sky blue to the dark ether of space.

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath and holds it as they slip past the last dredges of Earth’s atmosphere and are, truly, in the vacuum of space. It’s an old tradition Shiro used to have as a pilot: hold the last breath of Earth’s atmosphere in your lungs and then slowly let it go, accepting the inevitability of space.

Inevitability. Shiro used to hate that word.

The universe stretches out infinite before them. It’s theirs for the taking. Shiro feels like he might actually start crying, right there in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Send off your message?” Keith asks as the ship stabilizes.

Shiro’s grateful for the reminder. He adds his electronic signature to the note for Veronica and sends it off just as Keith starts coasting towards the wormhole relay.

“Done,” Shiro says and grins, lounging in the co-pilot’s chair, cushy and comfortable. Another little touch from Keith.

He wonders how long it’ll take Veronica to send a scathing response back, or for word to get back to the Garrison higher-ups. Keith and Shiro left messages for the Paladins, as well, and expects them to make contact as soon as they wake up.

“It’s really happening,” Shiro marvels.

Keith reaches over and squeezes his wrist. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s— It’s really happening.”

The wormhole opens before them, all a swirl of quintessence and dark energy.

“So…” Keith asks. “Where to?”

“Anywhere,” Shiro says, grinning. Keith snorts a laugh, and then guns the engine. Their ship zips forward, passing easily through the wormhole. Shiro laughs.

He’s with Keith. And he’s free.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your support on this fic so far!! I know I'm behind on comments and I apologize for that; I hope to respond to everyone soon. 
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy!

As soon as their ship soars through the wormhole relay, Shiro lets out a long, deeply held breath. It sighs out of him, something like a slow release easing away any lingering tension in his shoulders.

Keith casts him a sidelong glance at the sound of his breath. “What, you thought we were going to explode?”

Shiro chuckles, looking at the way Keith’s hair falls into his eyes before he paws it away. Keith looks beautiful in the soft light of the cosmos, his hands sure and steady on the controls of their ship.

Shiro sits in his co-pilot chair— the one Keith chose for him, he realizes now— watching Keith navigate their cruiser. He’s still a little blindsided by the fact that he’s here at all, that they made it. Without the weight of Earth’s gravity tugging on him, Shiro reminds himself he should be able to breathe a little freer now.

Elation simmers within him, ready to erupt again. He’s here. He’s together with Keith.

Keith’s in his element at the helm of a ship. Shiro just lets himself appreciate a quiet moment of looking at him. Keith flips some of the controls and guides the ship forward through the expansive black of space.

Shiro always loves this part, the slip between recognizable space and unrecognizable. They’re in a new system, thanks to the wormhole, lightyears from home. And they’re here, together, and Shiro still can’t really believe it’s real.

Keith is a confident pilot and the ship moves without issue. She’s slower, yes, but stable and steady. Shiro could watch Keith at the helm all day and never grow tired of it. He could spend the rest of his life watching Keith be brilliant and confident, as he always deserved to be, as he’s always been.

Shiro is hungover and he’s tired, but he thinks maybe some of Keith’s surety has rubbed off on him: The Garrison can’t get him now.

He just keeps repeating it in his head: He’s here. He’s _here_.

Shiro has sat for so long on the _what if_ of it all. Now that it’s actually _here_ , now that he’s taken the plunge, he thinks he should be a little more terrified than he is. Instead, all he feels is an overwhelming contentment.

Maybe it’ll wear off in time, but for now— Shiro only feels free.

He realizes he’s grinning only because he hears Keith give a soft snort beside him. When their eyes meet, Keith flashes him an answering grin, all teeth and sparkling eyes. In the right light, Shiro wonders if Keith’s teeth could be mistaken for pointed fangs, glinting just at the edge of danger.

“Shiro…” Keith says, seemingly just to say it. He props his foot up onto his chair, tucking his chin against his knee, turning fully in his seat to look at Shiro rather than the viewport. Shiro isn’t concerned by the lack of attention, the ghost of Keith’s fingertips skimming the top of the controls, ready to seize and navigate if necessary.

“Mm?” Shiro prompts.

But Keith just smiles, a slow and gentle curve brightening his face. “Nothing,” he admits. “I’m just…” He shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, unable to hold back his delighted laugh. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

That makes Keith’s smile grow, his eyes a burning fire as he gazes at Shiro. His fingertips skate across the controls, elegant and practiced in the touch. Shiro drags his eyes away from watching it to stare into Keith’s eyes again.

The urge to lean over and touch him is so strong. He’s used to touching Keith— casual touches. A hand to the shoulder. A lingering hug. Sometimes, even Keith’s eyes on him feels like a touch, something tangible and firm enough to send a shiver down Shiro’s spine.

Shiro’s used to longing. He’s used to looking at Keith and wanting nothing more than to drag him in closer, to press his lips to his, to steal his breath, to hear Keith whisper his name against his mouth. Shiro can’t pinpoint when, exactly, his feelings for Keith became this way— only knows that it feels encompassing, like it’s always been this.

He wonders sometimes if Keith even realizes just how deeply important he really is. How completely Shiro doesn’t deserve him.

The silence must go on for too long. Keith’s smile is slow and unfurling, his expression gentle but just on the edge of teasing.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks Shiro.

Shiro hums, his smile turning on the edge of moony. “Just that you look really happy.”

Keith laughs, finally turning away from Shiro, but it’s just so he can coax the ship into a stabilized trajectory and then flip the autopilot.

“Yeah?” Keith asks. “Well. I am.” His expression softens before he turns back towards Shiro, tucking one foot under his thigh and draping his elbow against his armrest, leaning forward towards Shiro. “I’m glad that’s what it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was worried you’d start to… second-guess,” Keith admits. “I’d understand if you did.”

Shiro chuckles. “Maybe I’m waiting for it all to settle in properly, too. But… I’m happy.”

“I am too,” Keith answers.

They sit there, smiling at each other in silence, and Shiro still feels that familiar peace settling over him. He doesn’t feel weighed down. He doesn’t feel anxious or overwhelmed or any sort of niggling doubt.

He knows this feeling likely won’t last, but for now, he lets it take him away. He lets himself get lost in Keith’s eyes.

“And I could never regret going somewhere with you,” Shiro adds, hating how soft and wispy his voice comes out— like he’s sighing it. Like he’s waiting to fall into the pool of Keith’s eyes.

Keith laughs quietly, ducking his head. His cheeks dust pink and his smile is sweet when he answers, “Yeah.”

Shiro lets that silence simmer between them, warm and pleasant. He and Keith have never felt the need to fill the space with words— he knows that well from their journey home in the Black Lion. Even before that, just lazy afternoons spent at the Garrison. He could always be silent with Keith without fear of the emptiness and quiet. It was always just the two of them. Everything was always going to be alright.

Shiro still remembers sitting on an alien planet with Keith, Keith forceful when he said, _Stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine._ Shiro remembers sitting there in silence with him, staring at the man Keith had become, and knowing completely that he was gone for him.

Shiro’s always been comfortable in silence. His thoughts of Keith always lap at the edges of his mind, never leaving him alone for long.

“We’re out here,” Shiro says, soft like a prayer. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Keith says. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

“You always do,” Shiro agrees, his heart doing a pathetic leap in his chest. And it’s true. Keith always does.

Shiro has never been used to placing his fate into another’s hands. But Keith always made it easy. There’s never been a time when Shiro hasn’t trusted Keith with his life— a few times over, at this point.

Shiro’s PADD chirps in his pocket.

“Oh,” Shiro murmurs and takes a breath, steadying himself. “Okay. That’s probably the Garrison.”

Keith waits, eyes burning and expectant, but Shiro hesitates. He knows it won’t do him any good to put off reading what the Garrison have to say.

He takes a deep breath and pulls out his datapad, flipping it on and scrolling to the messages. But it isn’t a reprimand from the Garrison at all.

“It’s from Pidge,” he says, surprised, and angles it so Keith can read it over, too. It means they’re both craning their necks to read the text, but it only takes a few lines before comprehension dawns.

It’s an encoded message with only a short note from all the Paladins— wishing them a safe journey— and an attached photo of the completely trashed common room on the Atlas. But what steals Shiro’s attention is the fact that Pidge also attached an official request for leave, backdated several months with Shiro’s signature and Garrison approval.

Shiro stares blankly at the document for a moment, knowing he’s never signed or submitted such a request. He should be alarmed by how eerily Pidge can recreate his signature— but really, he’s just impressed.

“She hacked our fucking hacks,” Shiro jokes, thinking of a drunk Pidge sprawled on the floor the night before and her promise to him.

Keith laughs, a sharp bark that fills the cockpit. “Sure looks that way.”

Shiro taps on the second attachment Pidge left for them. It’s a short clip of Allura, announcing Keith and Shiro’s humanitarian mission across the galaxy, and how delighted the Paladins all are for their diplomatic efforts. Allura, despite being blasted the night before, looks perfectly coiffed and regal, although Shiro knows that smile well— playful, hinting something mischievous. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

It might be because Shiro’s still feeling a little drunk— from the drink and from running away with Keith— but his heart does a funny little twisting thing in his chest, overflowing with affection for their friends.

“Allura’s smart,” Keith says, peering down at the PADD even once the video clip ends with Allura mid-wave. “No way the Garrison’s going against that PR.”

Shiro privately thinks they can’t be so naïve as to think they’ve skipped town without consequences. But, somehow, it feels too far away. The Garrison can’t touch them now. He can’t say the same for when, inevitably, they must return to Earth. But for now, it feels distant.

Shiro powers down the datapad with a wisp-soft, dreamy smile. He glances up at Keith and finds Keith’s eyes already on him.

“We have good friends,” Shiro decides.

“We do.”

“Think they’ll ever forgive us for ditching them all?” Shiro asks, grinning.

Keith snorts. “Not a chance.”

-

When another half varga passes without a message from the Garrison, Keith swivels in his chair to face Shiro before hopping to his feet.

“Okay,” he announces. “Since we’re here, officially, it’s time for the official tour of the ship.”

Keith seizes Shiro by the hand and pulls him to his feet.

“You know I helped build her, right?” Shiro asks, blushing at the touch. “I don’t really need a tour.”

“Yeah, but have you seen all the upgrades Pidge and Hunk added? Or the Altean tech?”

“Well. You got me there.”

Keith grins and takes a step back. Because their cockpit isn’t that big, that step back puts Keith flushed against the doors leading to the rest of the ship. He sweeps his arm out in a grand, exaggerated gesture. The wolf opens one eye to watch them before closing it again, continuing to doze in his spot in the corner.

“Ta da, the cockpit.”

“Yes, we’re acquainted with the cockpit,” Shiro demurs.

It’s not a huge ship. It’s barely large enough to fit the two of them, but that makes it easier— no need for a large crew if it’s just them, after all. Aside from the two seats at the viewscreen and viewport, there’re compartments for backup systems and storage. It is, indeed, a cockpit.

Keith palms the control panel for the door and it whooshes open. Shiro has seen the outside of the cockpit, too, of course, since the airlock’s right off of it along with the decompression chamber. There’s the artificial gravity terminal tucked away in an alcove just opposite the airlock, all of which Keith indicated with another ridiculous sweep of his hand.

Keith and Shiro wander down the corridor to the engine room and flight stabilizers. Then, sliding down the ladder one after the other, they retreat to the bottom deck, with the small greenhouse closet they added in for supplementing the food goo supply and providing streamlined oxygen surplus— an Olkari integration— and, finally, the living quarters. There’s the closet-sized bathroom with sonic shower and, beyond that, the sleeping quarters.

Keith takes to the tour like any grand tour guide, pointing out all the little tidbits of the ship as they pass. By the engine room, Shiro’s adopted the proper persona of someone on a tour, oohing and awwwwing at every little compartment and design quirk.

“Here is where the door doesn’t shut,” Keith says, pointing to a little cupboard with a half-closed door.

“Amazing,” Shiro enthuses.

“And here is where you’ll be spending your sleeping hours,” Keith says with a deep bow and a kick to the door to get it to whoosh open properly.

“Superb!” Shiro crows.

Keith snorts a laugh and trips into the room, tugging a laughing Shiro in after him. Even if only by a few cubic feet, the living quarters are by far the largest space on the ship itself, and Shiro grins as he looks around. The door whooshes shut behind them.

“Where should we start?” Keith asks, ever the gracious tour guide. “Kitchen or bedroom?”

Blushing, Shiro demurs, “Whatever will give us the best tour experience, naturally.”

Chuckling, Keith twists on his heel to throw another sweeping gesture towards the sleeping arrangements.

Shiro’s used to sharing a tight space with Keith— they did, after all, navigate the Black Lion together for several months on the journey back to Earth. Their cruiser’s definitely smaller than Black was, though, and certainly more narrow.

But Shiro’s eyes land on the single bed at the same time as Keith, who stops mid-swing of his arm.

Shiro and Keith stare at the one bed and only just then seem to realize that there is, indeed, only one bed— despite the fact the both of them helped build this ship in the first place.

“Huh,” Shiro says once the silence drags on a second too long to not be noticeable. He clears his throat and then teases, “I think I see a design flaw, Keith.”

“Ha,” Keith breathes. “Oops.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice it was just one bed,” Shiro says.

“I guess I can’t blame you for not saying something if you seriously thought it’d just be me on this thing,” Keith mutters with a small roll of his eyes. He gestures towards the bed, his cheeks turning pink, and says, “I mean, it’s a small ship. There wouldn’t have been room for two beds.”

Shiro nods, looking around, and silently congratulating himself on how evenly he’s accepting this information.

“It’s fine. Really, Keith,” Shiro answers.

“I tried to make sure it was as big as possible without throwing off our balance and weight class. I—” Keith stares at the bed with dawning horror and then slaps a hand to his face. “Fuck, I could have just… done bunk beds. _Obviously._ ”

Shiro can’t help his small smile in response, endeared by Keith’s frustration with his own design— as if he hasn’t done something amazing by building a ship from scratch in the first place.

“Seriously, Keith, it’s fine. You built this entire thing yourself.”

“With you,” Keith interrupts.

“With me, sure. But I mean— of course you’re going to miss the details.”

Keith still looks a little petulant, all playful tour guide gone from him now. He plants his hands on his hips, frowning. “Maybe if we want to stop at a ship yard, we could—”

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts, not letting himself think about how much Keith clearly hates the idea of bunking together. “I don’t mind sharing. We did on Black, didn’t we?”

A few times, at least. Shiro slept so long and so often that it was only occasionally when Keith would join him, as he usually kept his position in Black’s pilot seat.

But the question makes Keith pause, fingertips flexing at his hips. Keith’s face is burning a bright red— embarrassment at his mistake— and Shiro steps forward to grip his shoulder in a sympathetic squeeze.

“Besides,” he says to Keith, “Bunk beds would mean sacrificing storage space. We’ll be fine. I don’t move around in my sleep too much. Bet I slept like the dead, huh?”

“That joke’s not funny,” Keith murmurs without heat, but lifts his hand to squeeze Shiro’s wrist with a small shake of his head. “Yeah, yeah… you’re right.”

Keith laughs again, although it sounds a bit strained and breathless. He scrubs a hand over his face, fingertips digging into the line of his scar. Then he gives another elaborate, almost theatrical sweep of his hand, as he did in all the other chambers of the ship.

“And, finally, for the Admiral’s consideration— his living quarters. You’ll find the combination of sleeping and eating here for all your downtime needs.”

“Excellent work, Captain,” Shiro says, ready to start teasing again— to go back to normal.

Keith sputters and turns pink again. “Captain?”

Shiro isn’t sure why he starts blushing, but Keith’s reaction summons it out of him. “Well, I mean… one of us has to be captain of the ship, doesn’t he? And you’re the one who built her. So, it should be you.”

“But you’re the captain,” Keith says.

“No, I’m the admiral,” Shiro shoots back and grins.

Keith’s smile turns a little delirious. “Captain Keith sounds stupid.”

“No way,” Shiro protests, unwilling to ever admit, even to himself, just how much he likes the sound of Keith calling himself captain. “I think it sounds great. Captain Keith, Black Paladin of Voltron and Creator of… whatever this ship’s named.”

Keith lets his breath out in a whoosh and drops down onto the bed with a hum. “I guess we really do need to name her.” He looks around, running a reverent hand along the paneling lining the wall the bed’s anchored to. “It’s weird. I’ve never named a ship before.”

Cautiously, Shiro treads over towards Keith and drops down onto the bed, too, folding his legs into a criss-cross. He smiles at him, tilting his head.

“I guess we never had to name our other ships, huh?” Shiro says thoughtfully. “The Lions already had names.”

They fall quiet for a moment, as they do whenever they mention Voltron. Keith looks down at his hands. “Do you miss her? Black?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “Every day. Never thought I’d feel that nostalgic for a ship.”

But things were always complicated with Black, in the end. He was part of her. And then he wasn’t.

“She was more than that,” Keith says, smiling. “I sometimes think I can still hear her, in my mind. Not calling out for help or anything— the Lions were ready to make that sacrifice, but…” Keith shrugs, eyes downcast. “Sometimes it feels like she’s calling out to tell me she’s okay. That they’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees in a soft voice, staring down at his hands in his lap.

It’s strange to think of Voltron as gone. So much of Shiro’s identity— all the Paladins’ identities— was wrapped up in Voltron. He was a Paladin. Before that, he was a Garrison Lieutenant. Before that, he was a boy with a dream.

Now? Now, Shiro’s trying to figure out what he is.

He knows what everyone wants him to be. He knows what he probably should be.

Shiro smiles, banishing the melancholy thoughts before they can properly cultivate. There’s no time for him to be sad when he’s out here with Keith. He can focus on that.

“Maybe we could name this one to honor Black?”

“We can’t name this ship the Black Lion,” Keith says quickly.

“I didn’t think that,” Shiro assures him, laughing. Keith’s mouth twitches in a smile, which Shiro counts as a win. Shiro looks around the living quarters, his smile softening into something fond. “Black Lion Cub sounds silly. But something like that?” He tilts his head and winks at Keith. “Unless you’re still waiting for her to tell you when she’s ready?”

Keith blushes. “Hey.”

He kicks his foot out and knocks against Shiro’s knee, hard enough to jostle Shiro. Shiro laughs.

“But seriously, _Captain,_ ” Shiro says gently, smiling. “Think of a name worthy of the stars?”

Keith, blushing, turns his face away with a light smile. He considers, chewing his lip, and then lays his palm out against one of the side panels. It glows with a dim purple light and then disconnects a cabled datapad from the paneling. Keith fishes it into his lap and starts tapping away through the data. Then, definitively, he types out a name.

He hands the PADD with the registration paperwork to Shiro.

Keith’s typed: _Lion’s Pride._

Shiro looks up to meet Keith’s eyes. He looks shy but expectant. Shiro smiles. “I like it.”

Keith perks up. “I figured… we were both Black Paladins, so in a way we’re kinda like… we’re part of her pride, right?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Shiro agrees, nodding. He hands the panel back to Keith, who grins at him. “It’s perfect, Keith.”

“And we can shorten it to LP for the log, so that’s easy enough,” Keith agrees, tapping a few more buttons and returning the PADD to its paneling. It closes itself up with another purple glow. It’s a neat technique, and clearly an influence from Pidge or Hunk.

Shiro takes a breath and leans back, letting himself relax. They sit there together on the bed, facing one another, and let the silence wash over them. Their ship is quiet all around them, humming and whirring with electronic life, the autopilot sending them on their directed flight path.

It’s a comfortable silence, at least, something that swims around them.

“You know,” Keith finally says once the silence has stretched to its breaking point. “I was worried this wouldn’t happen.”

“What?”

“You coming with me,” Keith says. “I get it now, but all the months we were working on it, you just wouldn’t… tell me what you wanted.”

Shiro chuckles, unable to resist the self-deprecating squirm of guilt that roils in his gut. Well. He’s used to not saying what he wants, really.

“I should have guessed you didn’t know you were coming too,” Keith mutters.

“How could you have guessed that?” 

“You’re right. It was really stupid of you.”

Shiro snorts a disbelieving laugh and Keith’s smile is dagger-sharp as he peeks up at him through his bangs.

“But, really,” Keith insists, sobering again. “I thought…” His fingers grip at his pant leg tight, knuckles turning white for a moment before he releases his hold. “I don’t know. I hated seeing you every day.”

“Ouch.”

“No, I mean,” Keith’s quick to say, “I hated seeing how— how tired you looked.” He looks up at Shiro now, his eyes wide and plaintive. “The universe doesn’t deserve you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s mouth twitches into a soft smile, despite himself. “Keith…”

Keith looks back down again, shrugging. Anticipating Shiro’s protest, he adds, “I’m always going to think that. And it’s always going to be true.”

Shiro really doesn’t know what to say.

They fall into quiet again as Shiro studies the top of Keith’s head. Then, finally, Shiro sighs. “I’m glad you got me out of there.” He scratches the back of his neck, absently. “Once again, you’re my hero.”

Keith laughs through his nose, a broken-off sound, and looks up at Shiro. His mouth plays at a secretive, near enigmatic smile.

“Guess I am.”

“And now you’re stuck with me,” Shiro tells him, quiet enough that it’s near easy to dismiss it as a sigh. “Hope you’re happy.”

Keith hums and leans in closer. Shiro’s heart leaps, but Keith just knocks his shoulder against Shiro’s. Then he tugs Shiro in, hugging him. They fit together so easily, like Keith was always meant to be held in his arms.

Shiro closes his eyes, feeling himself surrounded by his best friend, held steady in his sure arms. It’s easy to curl his arms around Keith in turn, cradling him close. He rubs his back, pressing his forehead down against Keith’s shoulder.

“Never happier.” Keith mumbles his response into Shiro’s hair and squeezes him tight enough that Shiro has to gasp for breath.

-

“Still no word from the Garrison?” Keith asks a short while later, once they’ve finished the end of their grand tour.

“Nothing,” Shiro confirms, eyeing his PADD. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Keith shrugs. “We both know bureaucracy moves slow. It took them forever to actually promote you when anybody with eyes knows you’re the most competent one in that stupid place.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, near scolding, although he can’t disagree.

Keith shrugs. “What? They can’t stop me from thinking it, especially not after expelling me. They’re a bunch of idiots and you’re smarter than all of them put together.”

Shiro shakes his head. “They have a different process than what we’re used to.”

It’s true that the Garrison was once the conduit for Shiro to achieve his dream; he respected it on that level, perhaps, for its innovations in science exploration. But after being in space, after working with Allura and piloting the Lions, piloting Voltron, returning to a land-bound, rules-based hierarchy was certainly a struggle. Shiro never liked paperwork and he certainly never missed it while in space.

“Anyway, at the rate they go on things, I’m sure they’ll send you a diplomatically worded reprimand sometime next decaphoeb,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes. “And they can kiss my ass.”

Shiro snorts. “Keith!”

“What?” Keith asks, blinking in exaggerated innocence. “What are they gonna do to me, Shiro? Expel me?”

Shiro shouldn’t grin— he knows it’ll only encourage Keith— but he also knows Keith would be able to spot his amusement from a mile away. Shiro settles for shoulder-checking him anyway, teasing. Keith stumbles one step and then leans back in, shoulder-checking Shiro in return twice as hard.

“You’ve got quite the attitude there, cadet,” Shiro teases.

“Oh, I’m a cadet now instead of a captain?” Keith shoots back, grin wicked and glinting.

He ducks away before Shiro can shoulder-check him again, laughing. He scoops up Shiro’s hastily-packed duffle bag and tosses it to him.

“Come on,” Keith says. “Unpack.” He stoops to fetch his own bag. “It’ll feel more real once we’re settled in.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” Shiro simpers and laughs when Keith unzips his bag and lobs a pair of socks at his head.

It’s a pleasant feeling. Shiro never actually went on a roadtrip before— cosmic or otherwise— and if he ever were going to, of course it would be with Keith. They’ve always gotten along and even hungover and sleep deprived and on the run from the Garrison (if Shiro wants to phrase it dramatically), there’s a simple happiness permeating the entire ship.

No. Shiro wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here.

Still, once he unzips his bag and takes stock of what he packed in such a rush, he regrets once more that he didn’t realize this trip was coming.

“I didn’t pack much,” Shiro realizes.

“Ha, yeah, me neither,” Keith agrees, frowning at his own meager supplies. “Guess we’ll need to make a pit stop at a space mall.”

“Guess packing in a hurry is never a good thing,” Shiro laughs.

“Well. We can’t keep wearing our uniforms,” Keith decides. “Especially not your dress uniform.”

Shiro looks down at himself, at all the little medallions and appendages over his chest and shoulders. The stain on his arm from the sangria. His back is probably messy from lying out in the sand and any other detritus. He’s certainly made a mess of his white uniform. And he has no idea what’s happened to his hat. He has a vague memory of Coran wearing it while yodeling.

“Take that thing off,” Keith tells him with that dagger smile and Shiro’s never felt as light as he does when he unbuttons his long coat and lets it fall off his shoulders. Keith snatches it from him and tosses it into a drawer haphazardly, unconcerned about any wrinkles.

Shiro doesn’t really care, either.

He feels like he’s in zero-gravity. Like he’s floating. The admiral’s coat is a symbolic weight, but it’s gone all the same.

He rolls his shoulder with a smile, feeling the crisp, cycled air of the ship in just his black undershirt tucked into the form-fitting trousers of his uniform. When he glances over at Keith, it’s in time to see Keith darting his eyes away, ducking down over his duffle bag and digging with renewed purpose.

They spend a few minutes weeding through their respective supplies, assessing what they have.

“I have a lot of shirts but very few pants,” Shiro announces once he’s finished digging, his clothes lined out in the drawer Keith tugs open for him.

Keith snorts a laugh. “I have lots of pants but very few shirts. Give me one of yours?”

Shiro selects his tightest-fitting one for Keith in the vain hope it might fit him, and tosses it to him. Keith catches it easily, shrugging out of his red Paladin coat and pulls Shiro’s white tee on instead.

It’s a devastating look. The shirt hangs loose at his shoulders, settled across his chest and arms in an inviting way. He looks like he’s swimming in it.

And it just makes Shiro painfully, spiritually aware that Keith is wearing his clothes.

Shiro had no idea that could be a thing for him. And yet, perhaps unsurprisingly, it is.

“Thanks,” Keith says, tugging at the hem of the shirt as it ends just at the top of his thighs. He laughs. “Guess I’m not good at spontaneous packing.”

It’s a nice thought, Shiro thinks, to know that Keith was just as impulsive as Shiro was in the packing of everything. How ready he was to just drop everything and run with Shiro. To take Shiro away.

They only need a few minutes more to empty their bags and tuck them away. Shiro’s shirt slips off Keith’s shoulder with devastating casualness. Shiro wants to kiss his shoulder. He wants to lick at his exposed collarbone.

Shiro takes a steadying breath, rips his eyes away, and focuses, instead, on the compass Keith gifted him. He holds it gently in his cupped hands.

“Where can I put this?” he asks. “I don’t want it to fall or break.”

Keith turns to look at what Shiro means and Shiro watches his eyes go soft as he recognizes his gift. His smile is shy as he ducks his head, pleased that Shiro’s holding onto it. And then he rights himself and looks around their quarters, hands on his hips.

“I mean, there’s a drawer—”

“I want to be able to see it,” Shiro argues. “I don’t want to tuck it away.”

Keith blinks at him, surprised, his cheeks an adorable pink. Shiro wants to set the compass down only so he can draw Keith into his arms— the more precious gift, Shiro thinks— but as always, he resists.

When Keith frowns, still looking around the quarters, Shiro asks, “Maybe I can keep it in the cockpit?”

Keith blinks at him, surprised. “You— oh. You really like it, huh?”

“Keith,” Shiro says, staring into Keith’s eyes. “I love it.”

Keith beams at him, blinking a few more times, and then clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s find a place for it.”

In the cockpit, Shiro finds a small spot near the co-pilot’s chair, a little divot in the control panel that acts as a small shelf for the compass. Keith digs around and finds some cosmic stabilizing tape, helping anchor it at the base without damaging the brass.

Shiro sits down in the co-pilot’s chair, swiveled around so he can smile at it. It looks like it’s helping them navigate, poised just before the viewport. All Shiro has to do is turn his head and see it— its needle unmoving out in space, devoid of any magnetic field.

“I’m…” Keith begins.

“Mm?”

“I’m really glad you like it,” Keith admits.

Shiro turns his head to smile at Keith, holding his eyes. The guilt still swims in his chest, but it’s always easier to look at Keith, to see his best friend in the entire universe and understand that he’s made the right decision.

They’re here, together. And that’s more than enough.

But they really will need to find a space mall for supplies.

-

Their hangovers come back to bite them in the ass in a very real way. Even unpacked, fueled up, and wearing more comfortable clothes, Keith starts flagging about three vargas into their journey. The ship starts listing to the side, knocking thirteen degrees off its guiding star.

Shiro reaches out to the controls to steady LP when the ship gives a cheerful warning beep. Then, he touches Keith’s shoulder, nudging him just a bit.

“Go rest,” he tells Keith. “I can man this for a few tics.”

Keith glances out the window of the ship and back at Shiro, frowning. “I don’t know…”

“Rest. Take some time for yourself,” Shiro encourages him. He laughs. “Before too long, you’re going to get sick of me and practically beg for a chance to be alone.”

Keith snorts, standing from his seat. He flips on the autopilot and waves his hand. “Unlikely. Like I could get sick of you.”

He pats Shiro’s shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze before he wanders towards the exit to the cockpit. The wolf perks up and trots after him. “Call me if you want to trade off. You look like shit.”

“Hey. So do you, but I was kind enough not to say it,” Shiro calls out as the doors snick shut behind Keith, muffling his amused laugh.

Shiro chuckles to himself once Keith’s gone and thumbs the controls into autopilot as he checks through the messages. Hunk’s sent his collection of food goo recipes, Pidge a data schematic about one of her installations, Allura a request for an updated star map on the Entrynt system should they pass through it, and Lance an accusation that Keith’s run off with his best pair of socks.

He’s reading through a brief, but congratulatory, message from Veronica in response to his message to her when his PADD chirps with an incoming message.

The Garrison’s official communication channel.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself. A potential court martial is hardly the scariest thing he’s had to face down in his very short life. He entertains one belligerent thought that if he never comes back to Earth, they can’t do shit to him— he could just become a cosmic renegade with Keith.

It’s actually kind of a pleasant thought, even if Shiro knows he’d never actually manage it.

He breathes out through his nose, closing his eyes to steady himself, and regrets not waiting until his hangover’s passed before tackling official business. He swallows but opens the message. He reads through it dutifully, pushing through.

But Keith was right: it seems as of right now, the Garrison is unwilling to go against the PR or the fabricated leave request. At the end of their diplomatically worded tirade, they attach an approved flight-plan of Coalition planets they’re _strongly encouraged_ to visit, with timetables and mandated meetings.

More work.

After he finishes reading, he simply sits there. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. But that just adds fuel to his certainty that it’ll be a different story once he gets home. For now, they’re unwilling to make a stink over their newest Admiral running away from his responsibilities.

The guilt simmers in his gut, always ready to swallow him again.

Shiro breathes out and sends responses to the Paladins first. Then to Veronica and his team. To the Garrison itself, he sends the customary boilerplate response.

 _Have a lovely rest of your evening,_ he writes as his sign-off and hopes the Garrison feels the insincerity in every word.

Shiro finishes answering the messages, sets the PADD down, and grips the controls. With a deep breath, he reaches out and turns off the autopilot.

The ship doesn’t change under his hands, but Shiro can feel the power within her. He can feel that he’s the one in control. It’s nothing like Black or Atlas, with their sentience and their thoughts always tickling the back of his mind when he piloted. It’s purely a ship.

It’s their ship.

Shiro eases her forward and she responds like a dream, moving smooth as silk through the vacuum of space. He smiles to himself and tests the controls, lets her weave and sway through space, taking her time, looping along like a horse in a trot.

And when Shiro guns her forward, she speeds into it. Shiro can feel the pull of the artificial gravity on his shoulders, the momentum of their ship blasting forward. The engine hums around him. The controls are steady in his hands.

Shiro looks out through the viewport, staring off into the endless horizon— stars, stars, and more stars. The distant flicker of a nebula. The whisper of asteroids just a lightyear away.

He grins, staring out at the endless expanse of space— all those stars, all those new places to see. And he gets to see it all.

Shiro remembers the first time he ever got to pilot outside Earth’s atmosphere. He remembers being weightless, truly weightless, for the first time. He remembers how he hadn’t feared anything, how nothing had hurt. He remembers how he’d nearly cried and only just managed to hold it in. He remembers how it felt to have a heart so close to bursting from happiness.

It’s much like that feeling now, sitting in this ship he built with Keith, the entire universe open to him.

Shiro whoops a ridiculous laugh as he guns the ship forward, just to test what her limits might be— just to see how fast they can go.

-

Keith returns about two vargas later while Shiro’s in the middle of crafting a star map for Allura, having finished with his joyride and returned LP to her autopilot. It’s not the exact star system Allura wants, but he figures that keeping all their data up to date will only benefit them, and might smooth over some feathers from the Garrison later if they can tailor this trip into some sort of mandated exploratory mission for their newest Admiral.

Keith yawns, scratching his jaw as he renters, shuffling to his seat and dropping down into it. He’s removed his boots during his nap and he curls and uncurls his toes along the edge of his seat. It’s very endearing. He has little hairs on his big toes.

“Sleep well?” Shiro asks sunnily.

“How are you not more hungover?” Keith asks, looking deeply suspicious.

Shiro shrugs. “I am. I’m just better at hiding it than you.”

Keith snorts, pressing his feet against the control panel. Shiro can’t help but smile at the thoroughly domestic, unprofessional display, sitting all catawampus in his seat with his bare feet and his forehead against the ship’s buttons.

“Lance thinks you stole his socks,” he tells Keith.

Keith lifts his head so Shiro can see his perplexed look just before he scowls. “Why would I ever want anything that’s been on his feet to be on my feet?”

“I told him as much, albeit more diplomatically,” Shiro assures him.

“You can be a dick to Lance. He’ll probably thank you for it,” Keith says, seizing his PADD and fishing up the message board to see what Shiro sent Lance. “He has a weird hero crush on you.”

“He does not,” Shiro protests.

Keith gives him a bewildered look. “Of course he does. He’s never been secretive about it.”

“I—” Shiro flounders, unsure how to respond. He feels himself start to blush.

Keith looks beyond amused, tilting his head. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No,” Shiro protests.

He had no idea this is where this conversation was going to go. He feels like the floor’s fallen out from under him.

Keith grins at him, wicked and unrestrained. He nudges his foot against Shiro’s knee and Shiro bats him away playfully, shoving at Keith’s ankle until the force sends his chair spinning. Keith laughs and then groans, clenching his eyes shut to keep from getting dizzy while hungover.

“Lance doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“Pretty sure you were his bi awakening, Shiro,” Keith says solemnly.

Shiro blushes more, clenching his eyes shut. “God, don’t say that. I won’t be able to look him in the eye once we get back.”

Keith scoffs. “Is someone having a crush on you so horrible?”

It isn’t. Shiro’s used to people having crushes on him. It’s only— “ _Lance_ having a crush on me is mortifying.”

“It’s not that bad,” Keith teases. “Pretty sure everyone in the Castle had a crush on you at some point.”

Shiro’s eyes fly open, alarmed. “They did _not_.”

“They sure fucking did,” Keith answers without missing a beat, his mouth playing at a smile as he flips through the messages. “Every single one.”

That makes Shiro’s heart give a pathetic leap in his chest— not to think of any of the Paladins, but of _Keith_ being counted on that list.

Keith looks so happy. It’s a nice sight, to see the way just a smile and laugh softens Keith. He’s always been beautiful— Shiro knows that intimately— but in so many ways, it’s nearly too much to see him like this.

All the more so, given the subject matter. Shiro rubs at his cheek absently, heated and red beneath his fingertips.

“Regardless,” he coughs. “I’m not going to be purposefully mean to Lance. You cover those bases all on your own.”

Keith snorts. “Yeah, fair.” He stretches his feet out, smiling up at the ceiling. “I mean, he’s doing that obnoxiously happy thing now that he and Allura are spending more time together.”

“Allura’s happy, too,” Shiro says.

“Shame she has such horrible taste, though.” Keith’s eyes twinkle, betraying his amusement and softening the blow of the words.

Shiro chuckles. “Lance has his own charms.”

“Uh oh, don’t let him hear you saying that,” Keith says, muffling his smile against his palm. “He’ll dump her in a heartbeat for you.”

“No, I’m serious,” Shiro laughs. “I don’t know. He’s spirited, and I think that’s good for her to have. This whole time since she’s woken up, she’s had so much weight on her shoulders. It’s good if she can cut loose and just have fun. And Lance is a good person to make that happen.”

Keith’s eyes soften, looking at Shiro. “And maybe if we’re lucky, she’ll teach him how to not be quite so obnoxious.”

Shiro laughs. “You can act all tough all you want, mister, but I know better. Lance has grown on you.”

“Like mold, sure.”

Shiro chuckles, softer this time, and Keith rolls his shoulders, kneading at his neck and adjusting, slumping in his chair, keeping his eyes on Shiro the whole time, his eyes gentle at the corners.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but,” Keith says, “I’m glad they have each other. They deserve it, after everything. I mean… it must be reassuring, to have the person you like then like you back, you know?”

Shiro casts Keith a quick glance before he takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says, congratulating himself on how level his voice sounds, “that’s a good feeling.”

The longing blooms open his chest again, looking over at Keith. He glances away from Keith, looking out at the stars, then the unmoving needle of his compass mounted on the control panel.

“So,” he asks Keith. “Who do we gossip about next? Romelle? What do you think, _Captain_?”

Keith blushes and shoots back, “I defer to you, _Admiral._ ”

-

That night— or what passes for night in space— the two of them anchor their ship on an asteroid belt and slide down the ladder into the living quarters. They packed in a hurry, sure, but Shiro has his necessities for getting ready for bed.

He hears Keith moving around behind him and slipping into the bathroom. Keith comes back a few minutes later, smelling vaguely minty and wearing his sleep clothes.

“So, good news and bad news.”

“Yeah?”

“The water-recycler’s working!” Keith pauses. “But the water’s coming out green.”

“Uh.”

“There aren’t any foreign particles in it, I checked. Just… green.”

“Uhhhhhh?”

Keith laughs at Shiro’s expression and starts shoving him towards the bathroom. “Brush your teeth.”

Shiro does, looking vaguely unsettled by the green water, but accepting it as another quirk of the ship. He brushes his teeth and flosses before wandering back into the sleeping quarters. Keith’s lowered the lights down just enough to dim the room but not so dark that Shiro can’t navigate, although his arm casts an eerie glow against the wall as he approaches.

Keith’s scooted so far into the bed that his back presses up against the wall, leaving ample space for Shiro. Shiro pauses only for a moment, taking a steadying breath, and then slipping beneath the covers. He lies on his side, facing Keith.

“There’s a cupboard for your arm,” Keith says and then wrinkles his nose. “That sounds stupid. I just mean—”

He sits up enough to slide open one of the side panels. It’s a little cubby, the perfect size for Shiro’s arm to tuck away and power down for the night without fear of turbulence sending it flying somewhere else or whacking one of them in the head. Shiro lets it float up there and settle before he breathes out and wills the power to lessen into sleep mode. It only takes a thought and Shiro’s used to it now, but it’s still a strange feeling sometimes— to feel his arm and then not.

“You really thought of everything, huh?” Shiro asks, settling back down, head on the pillow.

Keith gives him a tentative, almost shy smile. “I wanted this to be perfect for you, Shiro. It’s as much your ship as it is mine.”

“Can I be honest?” Shiro asks, which is redundant— there’s no one else in the universe he can be more honest with than Keith. Still, Keith nods his head. “I feel… kind of guilty, being here.”

Keith nods, signaling Shiro to continue.

“Earth is such a mess right now. And we just left without a word, you know?” Shiro says. “I know you said… I know you’ve told me that I deserve to be selfish every once in a while.” Keith nods but doesn’t interrupt and Shiro can’t help his small smile. “But, you know… it’s hard. To push past that guilt.”

“We can turn back.”

Shiro smiles, shaking his head. “No, no— I don’t want that. Do you?”

“No,” Keith confesses, peering at Shiro. When Shiro looks closely, he can tell that they’re glowing, like a cat’s eyes in the dark, luminescing and serene.

They lie like that, side by side, facing one another, and it’s the most peaceful Shiro can ever remember feeling. It’d be so easy, he thinks, to reach out and touch Keith, to let the backs of his fingers skim along his cheek, to cup his chin and draw him in, kissing him sweetly. He can almost picture how it’d feel. But Shiro’s used to this sort of longing, used to it shimmering in his chest like a newly birthed star. It leaves him feeling warm, even as he aches. Longing does that for him— and he knows longing well.

“Then… I’m fine. I don’t regret being here,” Shiro tells him and smiles. “I just… it’s hard to explain. I don’t regret it but I feel guilty that I don’t feel more guilty?”

“I get it,” Keith says. “It’s always been hard for you to disconnect that part of your brain.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t sure if they’d let us go. Figured they’d call our bluff,” Keith admits.

“What?” Shiro asks, laughing. “You were so confident!”

Keith chuckles and doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty about the admission. “You should know me better than that by now, Shiro.”

“God help me, but I do,” Shiro sighs, closing his eyes.

He feels the phantom touch of Keith brushing his hair from his face and settling in beside him. It’s not so bad. Shiro’s used to tight quarters after Lion travel, after all, and it’s hardly a hardship to be sharing space with Keith of all people. The touch is infinitely relaxing, brief though it is.

“Your eyes glow,” Shiro hears himself say, voice thready and light.

Keith chuckles, something amused and embarrassed at once. “It’s a Galra thing. We see better in the dark than humans, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Shiro opens his eyes to study Keith’s. They’re still glowing, eerie and star-touched.

“Kinda,” Keith mumbles into the pillow. “It’s… I can see colors even in the dark. I can see further than I think humans can. But mine’s not nearly as good as Galra sight.”

“Cool,” Shiro answers. And it is cool. Everything about Keith is always infinitely cool.

Keith chuckles, blushing. “Thanks, Shiro.” He clears his throat. “I know we… shared a bunk on Black a few times, but you should know, I— well. On the space whale, Mom told me that I’d sometimes… burrow.”

“Burrow?” Shiro asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “My guess is that it’s basically blanket-hogging. Just shove at me and I should let go.”

“I’m not going to shove at you.”

“You say that now,” Keith says. “Let’s see if you’re so generous days from now.”

“Hey,” Shiro teases. “Like you said to me— as if I could get tired of you.”

Keith’s smile is a brilliant thing, brighter than all the starlight beyond their ship. Shiro feels his answering smile turn moony, just wanting to get lost in Keith’s eyes, in that radiating happiness.

“Thanks, Shiro,” Keith whispers.

“Sleep,” Shiro murmurs. “Hopefully we’ll be less hungover tomorrow.”

Keith laughs, and obediently closes his eyes. They lie like that in silence and wait for sleep to overtake them.

Shiro hears the exact moment Keith drops off into sleep. He hears his breathing change. When he peeks his eyes open and they adjust to the dark, he sees the slack warmth of Keith’s face, smoothed out by sleep. He’s handsome, Shiro thinks pathetically, face mushed up against his pillow.

Shiro brushes Keith’s hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear just for the luxury of it, and closes his eyes, trying to sleep, too.

His mind is too rapid, though, and sleep escapes him. He listens to the sounds of the ship, growing used to the way she sounds around them— eerily silent at times in the way only the impossible vacuum of space can be, and other times LP makes clanking, humming sounds as she adjusts to space flight.

No alerts sound for collapsing atmosphere or hulls, though, even when Shiro fishes up a PADD to double-check just in case the alert system’s malfunctioned.

He tries not to squirm. He tries not to shift too much and wake Keith from his own sleeping. He’s not sure how to describe the strange mix of feelings inside him— excitement and churning, crushing guilt. It’s near suffocating.

Part of him still wants to turn around, accept his place in the universe, and save Keith from repercussions.

The other, louder part of him wants to keep soaring and never come back, flying into the galaxy with Keith by his side. Somehow, it feels like it was always meant to be. He thinks of himself years ago, just a silly boy in the Garrison dreaming that he’d see the stars and get to pilot by Keith’s side.

He wishes he could tell that boy that he made it. That he’s here and more. Wishes he could tell him that everything he went through— it was worth it if it meant everyone got out alive in the end.

As the calculated and programmed sleep-cycle comes towards its end and the ship starts incrementally brightening the lights, Shiro slips out of bed to start his morning routine. He starts with morning stretches to help loosen up his limbs— an old habit established when he’d often wake with cramps and intense nerve pain. Old habits die hard and it’s the only way that Shiro can start the day without feeling sluggish.

He drops down into a squat, bouncing on his heels before he stretches first one leg and then the other, leaning into himself until he feels that pleasant stretch.

By the time Keith wakes up, he’s halfway through his pushup routine, on his third set. Keith blinks at him groggily, hair sticking up in all different directions. He rubs at his eyes and watches Shiro sleepily for a few moments as Shiro huffs his way through his set.

“That’s so weird,” Keith remarks. When Shiro grunts, he clarifies, “The arm. I thought it was disembodied… how is it bearing your weight?”

Shiro finishes his set and drops down onto his knees, running his hand through his hair and pushing it away from his face. “It can be disconnected if I want— let it go wherever it wants. Or I can lock it into place with the electro-magnetic field. I control it with my thoughts. It’s trippy.”

“How the hell does that work?” Keith asks around a jaw-cracking yawn.

Shiro shrugs. “Allura explained it but it’s kind of complicated. But, here…” He holds his arm out to Keith. “Try passing your hand through the space where my bicep should be.”

Keith does, but much like a magnet trying to connect with another magnet with similar poles, Keith’s hand bounces off as if repelled. Keith’s eyebrows rocket up. “Huh.”

“Now try again,” Shiro says, letting his arm float away from his side, disembodied again. This time, when Keith runs his hand forward, it passes through without a problem. “Like that.”

“Well,” Keith says. “Guess that explains that.” He swings his legs out from beneath the covers, toes curling as his feet plant themselves on the cool floor. “Did I interrupt your set?”

“Just one left and then I’m good,” Shiro says.

He expects Keith to get up and start his day, but he just lounges in bed as Shiro runs through his last set of push-ups. It’s interesting to feel Keith’s eyes on him, assessing his form. Shiro counts in his head as he works through the last of his sets and rises again, sitting on his knees and smiling at Keith.

“So,” Shiro asks, wiping his hand over his brow to wipe away the smallest sheen of sweat collecting at his hairline. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Did I burrow?” Keith asks, rubbing his eyes.

“No,” Shiro says. “You were pretty still, as far as I could tell.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Keith says with a yawn. “But in that case, I slept fine. What about you?”

Shiro smiles absently, sure that the large bags under his eyes speak for themselves. He can hear the lightest touch of concern in Keith’s tone, although he also knows Keith will follow his lead. If Shiro doesn’t want to talk about it, Keith won’t press.

He shrugs, helplessly. “I’ll get there. Takes me a while to adjust to new sleeping situations.”

“I get it,” Keith says, curling and uncurling his toes. “You can wake me up, you know. If you start getting weirded out by…. Space darkness nighttime shit.”

Shiro laughs affectionately. “Thanks, Keith. I’ll remember that.” He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stomach the guilt of waking Keith up for his own nonsense, but the thought is a pleasant one. “Stretching helps me focus, anyway.”

Speaking of. He drops down onto his hands again and arches his back. He’s never been one for yoga, but it helps him to focus his mind for the day and, of course, keep his muscles loose. The last thing he needs is more flare-ups while on a space roadtrip with his best friend.

Keith nods. “Your… You’ve been okay, right?”

“Guess my back’s kind of tight,” Shiro allows. He arches his back, shimmying his hips a bit as he squirms his way into an upward dog.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Keith mutters. Then he clears his throat. “I mean. I haven’t noticed-noticed. I mean… I noticed, but, not in a noticing kind of way.”

Shiro glances over at Keith with a confused frown as Keith groans, pressing a hand to his face and scrubbing at his cheek.

“Anyway,” Keith mutters, already leaving the room. “I’m going to go shower.”

-

Their second morning on the ship goes well. While Keith showers, Shiro makes breakfast from their freeze-dried supplies. When Keith re-emerges scrubbed clean, he takes the bowl with a grateful nod and shovels the food into his mouth. He flies the ship with his knees as Shiro eats his breakfast, cleans up, and heads back into the living quarters to shower, too.

They spend the morning scrolling through their various messages. Now that the Garrison is retroactively on board, they’ve sent along another updated, official list of places they’re _strongly encouraged_ to visit. The Coalition members are clamoring for a chance to have a peace-keeping diplomacy visit from two Paladins of Voltron.

The places on the list don’t seem too awful, by any means, but Shiro can’t help but feel that familiar tightening of a leash. Naturally, they can’t risk offending certain Coalition planets by visiting one and not the other, or one before the other, or even blinking in a way that could cause a universal incident.

He glances up from the PADD to find Keith studying him, eyes dark and assessing. Shiro lifts his eyebrows in silent question.

“What?” he asks.

Keith smiles and plucks the PADD from Shiro, powering it down. “You know what I think?”

“What?” Shiro asks again.

“I think we should just… see where the wind takes us.”

“Solar wind,” Shiro mutters and then laughs at his joke.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Pick a direction, Shiro. Let’s go.”

Shiro laughs, always and forever impressed by Keith’s relentless impulse. It’s something he’s always admired about Keith. Keith really, truly doesn’t care what the Garrison thinks. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He knows what he wants and, as always, he knows how to go and get it.

Shiro might still be fighting some anxiety, but in the end, it’s impossible not to believe in Keith.

He’s always believed in Keith.

There’s a massive sea of vacant space as they travel towards their set destination, but it’s nothing like the mass expanse of darkness during their travels back to Earth. There’s plenty of light, plenty of interesting sights, and plenty of things to use as guidance to update their starmaps as they go. Shiro knows this.

Shiro fiddles with the starmap, making notes of changes they need to make to update the charts.

Then, he picks a direction, relays the coordinates to Keith, and the ship turns to the curve of Keith’s hands as he coaxes her forward.

They soar.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all your comments and support on this fic! I'm srsly beyond thrilled that you're all enjoying it! ♥ I was so worried that people would find this fic boring, so all your thoughtful comments are really so humbling and so encouraging.
> 
> Also, this needs to be said since I haven't said so since the first chapter: continued and eternal thanks to Jess and Kika for reading these chapters over! Esp. this one since it had quite a few typos in it haha. (That's what quick editing will do for you.) 
> 
> Added a few more tags. :)

Shiro and Keith fall into a routine navigating their ship. They’re only a few days into their journey, but it feels like it’s been forever in the best way— the way they fall naturally into long stretches of silence, comfortable and lounging, the way they can sit in the pilots seats together and move in one another’s space.

Shiro loves the thought of how naturally they fit together. They always were a good team, after all.

There’s comfort in it— the little words they pass back and forth in the mornings, or the way they can pick up on a conversation dropped vargas earlier.

The only thing that interrupts Shiro’s own peace is the Garrison’s flight-plan sitting on his PADD. Keith and Shiro haven’t discussed their first pitstop, spending the first few days of their journey adjusting to LP’s quirks as a ship and just enjoying the glide through the inky dark of the cosmos. But the ship is small and she’ll need to refuel soon.

Olkarion is the first planet on the Garrison’s list, and it is close to where they’re currently flying. It’s a natural pitstop, although Shiro rankles at the thought of just blindly following the flight-plan, just as the Garrison expects that he will.

Shiro knows how to choose his battles, but he knows deep down inside that he’s still just as reckless as he’s always been— how a small part of him always wants to rebel against what everyone thinks he should and will do.

 _Admiral Takashi Shirogane_ is responsible. He’s a leader. He’s the perfect soldier, the perfect Garrison team player, the perfect pilot. Perfect.

Shiro hates that even as he resents the moniker, resents the way people perceive him, he finds himself falling into line. Even now, when the Garrison is lightyears away from them.

But then again, Shiro knows it can’t last forever. Eventually, the dream will end. He’ll return to Earth, face the consequences of his actions, and pick up the pieces from there. Shiro isn’t sure what’s worse— if his career will be over in dishonorable discharge, a court martial, or if it’ll go back to exactly as it was before, with a tighter leash.

The sound of the doors whooshing open behind Shiro interrupts his thoughts. Keith’s finally awake, it seems, his footsteps shuffling, sleepy little drags across the floor. Shiro turns his head a little to smile at Keith in greeting.

“Morning,” Keith says with a yawn as he slips into the co-pilot’s chair, folding one leg over the arm and sitting lackadaisically. He’s wearing one of Shiro’s shirts again and it slips off his shoulder, exposing the smooth line of his clavicle. Shiro wants to bite it. He whips his head around to stare out the viewport instead.

“Good morning,” he says and congratulates himself on his level voice. He clears his throat. “Sleep well?”

Keith grunts. “You should have woken me up.”

Shiro hums. “You looked peaceful.”

And that’s true. It was another sleepless night for Shiro, but Keith had looked nice. Still no burrowing, as far as Shiro can tell. (Keith assured him the third morning, “You’ll know it when I do.”) His face pressed against his pillow, Keith had looked so lovely— and he’d snored a little, the way a kitten might snore in deep, soft little purrs. Shiro hasn’t really admitted that part to Keith yet.

Keith yawns so wide that his jaw cracks. It makes Shiro yawn, too, in sympathy— and as a bitter reminder of his own fatigue; he still hasn’t been getting much sleep, and not just because his heart hammers every time Keith shifts a little closer towards him in his sleep.

Shiro’s been tense every night, holding himself just on the edge of the mattress, afraid to bridge the gap and potentially crush Keith, or worse, wake him up should Shiro jerk back into awareness due to a nightmare.

Keith’s eyes are sleepy but sweet as he watches Shiro yawn. “Anything happen while I slept?”

“Nope,” Shiro says. “Steady as she goes. Everything’s stabilized and life support systems are fine, as usual. We’re getting low on fuel, though.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Figured we’d need to refuel soon.”

Shiro nods. “That’s where I’m taking us now.”

Another one of their silences lapses between them, slow and cresting like a wave. Shiro smiles to himself, guiding LP through a few stray debris floating out in the vacuum of space. She’s smooth and slinky, moving effortlessly at any of Shiro’s movements.

“Since the Captain’s awake,” Shiro says. “Want to start driving?”

He knows how much Keith loves to pilot, too, after all. But Keith snorts fondly, resting his cheek on his knee as he watches Shiro. “Give me a few minutes to wake up and sure. Have you had breakfast?”

“Was waiting for you,” Shiro answers. He smiles over at Keith, feeling his gut squirm pleasantly at the sight of him.

Happy, sleepy at the edges, his toes curling and uncurling, his hair a mess. He looks well-rested. Shiro’s grateful for that. The urge to reach out and touch him is so strong.

And then Keith yawns again and asks, “So where are we going for fuel?”

Shiro sighs, and hates how bone-weary it sounds even to his own ears. He grips LP’s controls. “Garrison sent that flight plan,” Shiro explains. “First stop is Olkarion— it’s close so it makes sense for refueling.”

Keith suddenly looks more awake. He renegotiates his position in the chair, sitting with his legs tucked under him and his hands planted on the seat’s arm so he can lean forward, nearly pushing into Shiro’s space.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith says.

He can hear the reprimand in the tone of his voice, can feel the fire in Keith’s gaze. Shiro can’t blame him for his reaction. He expected it.

Silently, Shiro flips the autopilot sequence, waits for the confirming light, then turns in his chair to face Keith in turn.

“Keith,” he says in response. He doesn’t mean to tease and it doesn’t seem to reassure Keith, anyway. He merely narrows his eyes.

“Why are we following the Garrison’s flight plan?” Keith asks.

“I know,” Shiro says with a sympathetic flinch. “I—”

“They don’t get to sweep in and take this from us,” Keith says, hunching his shoulders. He looks angry, and Shiro knows it’s not directed at him, but it still feels like a bucket of ice water. He hates to think he’s the reason Keith’s peace and happiness has shattered so quickly.

Shiro nods. “I know, Keith.”

“Do you?” Keith snaps, then hunches further in on himself like he can’t believe he just snapped at Shiro. He grunts, his brow furrowing and his expression thunderous. “That entire trip’s just Coalition Planets, diplomatic talks, and more photo-ops.”

Shiro feels that familiar weight settling on his shoulders— an oppressive, all-consuming surety of the collar around his neck tightening, the Garrison’s short leash yanking him backwards. It feels worse to see Keith’s reaction, forceful and unflinching. He doesn’t even try to disguise his frustration now.

“We’re taking this trip so we can go where _we_ want to go,” Keith says. “I didn’t take this trip to be the Garrison’s PR lapdogs.”

Keith punctuates the words with a grunt, flinging himself from his seat so he can stalk around the cockpit. There isn’t a lot of space for him to pace around— like a lion in a cage, Shiro thinks— but Keith still manages to look powerful and frustrated at once, his arms crossed. Even wearing Shiro’s too-large shirt and with his bare feet, he strikes an intimidating figure. Shiro doesn’t doubt that Keith’s two seconds away from calling the Garrison to chew them all out himself.

“Keith,” Shiro begins, holding his hand out as if to soothe.

Keith isn’t having it, though. He swivels on his heel and stares at Shiro. “Shiro! We’re out here to have fun and to explore. Every place on that list is somewhere we’ve been.”

“It might be nice to see a few without war on our backs,” Shiro admits. He wouldn’t mind seeing Olkarion again. At the very least, they know that their technology will be compatible with LP. Refueling will be easy.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Shiro.”

Shiro breathes out. He knows Keith sees right through it— and he can’t blame him for the frustration.

“They know you’re feeling obligated and guilty,” Keith grumbles. “They’re taking advantage of you _again_. You’ve given them enough Shiro. More than enough. They don’t deserve your loyalty.”

Shiro’s not sure if it’s so simple. Going back to the Garrison felt like inevitability when they returned to Earth, fought their war, sure. But Shiro knows it’s not the Garrison that has his loyalty, knows it’s not the Garrison that gives a damn whether he lives or dies beyond what he represents to them and their interests.

No, it’s always been Keith who’s thrown himself across the universe to protect Shiro, to help him. Shiro knows he’ll never be able to give enough to make up for all that Keith’s done for him— not just saving his life, again and again, but so much more. Shiro knows he’d be lost without Keith.

He’d be dead without Keith, lost forever.

If he lets himself get very morbid about it, he knows there’d be nothing without Keith. No universe to save at all. No Voltron. None of their friends. Nothing.

Keith’s never asked anything of Shiro, nothing that Shiro wasn’t willing to give him.

Keith starts pacing again. And Shiro knows it isn’t about the flight-plan at all. It’s more than that. It’s not the Garrison itself, but what it’s doing to Shiro. Shiro can imagine what he must look like— tired, guilty, and wrung-out.

Somehow, it never really occurred to Shiro just how much seeing him like this must bother Keith.

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro says.

That makes Keith pause. He grunts, scrubbing a hand through his hair, agitated and on edge. Shiro watches him take steadying, patient breaths— an attempt to calm himself down. Maybe some embarrassment flickering in his eyes for his reaction, extreme and volatile.

“Do you _really_ want to go to Olkarion?” Keith asks.

Shiro debates but knows he’s only ever going to tell Keith the truth. “I’d have recommended we go there before getting the Garrison’s plan. It’s the closest planet to us and their fuel is efficient. It’ll work well with LP’s engines.” He shrugs, his smile self-deprecating when he adds, “But knowing it’s where the Garrison wants us to go makes me not want to go. Just to be contrary.”

Keith rolls his eyes again. This time, though, it’s more fondly. “Contrary.”

“Only sometimes.”

Keith takes a deep breath and lets it out in an even count. Shiro watches his shoulders slump. A small part of him is tickled and endeared to see Keith practicing the calming techniques Shiro himself taught him years ago.

“So, you’re thinking of doing what the Garrison wants out of a sense of obligation,” Keith elaborates.

Shiro’s silent for a beat too long. Quietly, he says, “Yeah. Guess so.”

And then Keith’s suddenly up in Shiro’s space, his hands on the arms of the pilots seat and swiveling it around so Shiro can face him properly. Shiro only has a breath to steady himself before Keith’s shoving his forehead against Shiro’s. It’d be a gentle gesture if not for the fierceness in Keith’s eyes, the way they burn like fire, swirling and intense like a star.

Shiro can only stare back, his entire field of vision focused on _Keith._

“I am here with _you_ ,” Keith says and whenever he speaks like this, it can only sound like a vow, like something weighted. “Be here with _me,_ too, Shiro.”

“Keith—”

“Be here with me,” Keith says again, and this time it sounds like a plea. Shiro knows Keith isn’t asking for Keith’s own sake, but for Shiro’s. This close, Shiro can see the way Galra yellow bleeds into Keith’s eyes, betraying how upset Keith really is.

Shiro’s stunned into silence and he knows he must look surprised. Keith doesn’t waver, but his eyes do flicker— across Shiro’s face, down, and then away. He sighs, dropping his head down to rest against Shiro’s shoulder. He holds himself tensely, like he expects Shiro to say no, like he expects Shiro to insist on following what the Garrison wants.

Shiro breathes and slowly curls his arms around Keith to tug him in close, pressing him flush against him. It means Keith scrambles a little, hunched over Shiro and now awkwardly dragged into the chair, too. One knee plants itself on the seat and it means that Keith’s effectively sitting in Shiro’s lap— but Shiro’s so focused on Keith that he can’t even be embarrassed about it. Keith takes a breath. Shiro hides his face against the dark ink of Keith’s hair.

 _I love you,_ Shiro thinks fiercely, not for the first time. It burns inside him, swelling and overwhelming. Sometimes, it’s impossible to breathe for how much he loves Keith. His heart is full, bowled over by the sheer strength of Keith’s care for him.

And Shiro doesn’t deserve it. He never deserved this loyalty.

“I’m here with you,” Shiro whispers. Promises it. He can’t let go of the guilt, that obligation that simmers inside him, but he wants to. He wants to be able to not care, just like Keith does, wants to be able to throw the Garrison aside and never think of it again.

God, all he wants is to just _have fun_ again.

Keith’s arms fling up and wrap tight around him, squeezing hard enough that Shiro nearly loses his breath entirely. Keith’s breath comes out like a little growl, protective and possessive.

They stay like that, the position awkward and a little uncomfortable, but neither of them seem to mind. Keith shifts a little, pressing closer towards Shiro so he’s not half-hanging off the chair. Shiro holds him tight, feeling that heavy weight of Keith in his arms— a welcome weight, always. Someone precious.

When Shiro shifts, pulling away, Keith growls again. Shiro shushes him. “It’s okay,” he reassures him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shows Keith what he needs— listing to the side so he can seize up the PADD sitting on the control panel. He flips it open to the Garrison’s approved, diplomatic flight plan, and with a few definitive swipes of his thumb, deletes it off his datapad entirely. Shiro doesn’t even hesitate over the warning window asking if he’s sure he wants to permanently delete the file.

As soon as it’s done, he drops his PADD, uncaring of where it lands, and pulls Keith back into his arms. Keith’s eyes shine for a moment and then he clings to Shiro.

“There,” Shiro says. “After Olkarion, no flight-plan. Just us.”

Keith nods. “Good.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever growled at me before,” Shiro murmurs.

“It’s a Galra thing.”

“Hmm.” Shiro pauses, rubbing his hands over Keith’s back. He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I didn’t realize this meant so much to you. I thought—”

“Of course it means something to me,” Keith says. He mumbles the words into Shiro’s shoulder, unrelenting in his grip. “Shiro… I want you to be happy.”

“I don’t want you to just be doing this for me,” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head. He squeezes Shiro tight. “Why is it that we can save the entire universe from the forces of evil and yet now I just feel like the Garrison is my enemy?”

“Keith—”

“Shiro,” Keith cuts in, holding Shiro in that vice-like grip. “You weren’t happy. I wasn’t happy. None of us are happy there.”

Shiro lifts his hand, petting it down the back of Keith’s head, fingers sliding through Keith’s loosely curling hair. It’s soft to the touch. Keith makes a sound.

Keith pulls back from the hug enough to look up at Shiro, that same intensity shining in his eyes. Shiro’s hand settles at the top of Keith’s spine, thumb against the nape of his neck.

“I get it,” Keith says. “It feels shitty to just _leave_. But if you want to help the universe, the Garrison isn’t doing anything others aren’t, too. Just because we don’t do what the Garrison says doesn’t mean we can’t help the universe.”

Shiro nods slowly, accepting the words. That much is true, Shiro knows. The universe is a vast place, and certainly even on Earth it isn’t just the Garrison mandating rebuilding efforts. Undoubtedly, the Garrison has the most resources and is the largest entity, but not the sole one.

Shiro knows all this in theory, but it’s another thing entirely to apply it to himself. He can’t envision leaving outright, starting over. Not being part of the Garrison anymore. He doesn’t feel loyal to the Garrison, necessarily, but obligation and responsibility are heavy things— and things hoisted upon him since even before Voltron.

But—

“I’m tired of being a soldier, Keith,” Shiro admits. He closes his eyes. “I’m tired of fighting.”

He just wants to be Shiro. Not the Black Paladin. Not the Captain of the Atlas. Not the New Admiral. Not the Champion.

Just Shiro.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers.

Shiro opens his eyes to find Keith watching him. “I’m tired but I— I don’t know how to be anything else but this now.”

Keith makes a mournful sound at that, like he’s been smacked by the words. Ashamed, Shiro ducks his head, trying to steady his breathing. His heart pounds a mile a minute, anxiety fisting his throat shut, his stomach roiling with the admittance. He hadn’t realized how true it was until he’d said it aloud.

He stares down at his lap, at the splay of Keith’s legs as he effectively straddles Shiro in his chair. He can’t even appreciate the flex of Keith’s thighs. It’s not appropriate.

“Okay,” Keith says, voice graveled out. Shiro has always loved the rust of Keith’s voice. Keith’s fingers touch Shiro’s chin and tilt his face back up to meet his eyes again. There’s something softer in Keith’s eyes now, his smile gentle but pained. “Okay,” he says again when Shiro’s looking at him. “You don’t think I get that feeling, too?”

Shiro’s throat clicks as he swallows.

Keith laughs, eyes glassy for a moment before he blinks it away. He drops his hand away from Shiro’s chin.

“So let’s find out, Shiro,” Keith says. Shiro opens his mouth to ask a question and Keith cuts in, smooth as silk, “Let’s go figure out who we are now, in a peaceful world.”

“Keith—”

Keith creeps closer to him again, fingers curling tight around Shiro’s shoulders. He stares at him. “Let’s go have fun. Let’s explore. Let’s do all the things we wanted to do before but couldn’t.”

Shiro feels choked up. All he can do is nod. “Y- yeah, Keith.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, voice wavering. He swallows and then smiles, and it’s the brightest thing in the universe, the only thing Shiro can focus on. “And then— we can figure out what to do after all this when that time comes. For now, let’s just do this.”

Shiro’s hands smooth down Keith’s back, the gentle, lithe curve of it. They settle at Keith’s hips before he thinks better of it and lets his hands drop uselessly to his sides.

Only then does Keith seem to realize he’s in Shiro’s lap. He clears his throat. He squeezes Shiro’s shoulders and then, slowly, climbs from his lap. It leaves him hovering above Shiro again, hunched over.

Shiro looks up at him.

“No more Garrison on this trip,” Shiro agrees.

Keith nods. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro says, licking his lips. “I can do that.”

Keith nods again and squeezes his shoulders, his smile a slowly uncurling thing. “Think you can manage to have fun?”

Shiro laughs and hates that it’s even a question, that somehow he’s forgotten what it means to be carefree. He lifts his hand, circling Keith’s wrist and squeezing once.

“Yeah, Keith. I think I can manage that.”

-

Shiro’s still thinking about their conversation long after they’ve let the matter settle between them. Shiro feels emotionally bare after the confession, even if it was one only to Keith.

Keith, for his part, is gentle with it all. He leaves Shiro to pilot more and makes them breakfast. He returns to the cockpit with two plates and they eat together staring out the viewport at the endless horizon of the cosmos.

Shiro waits for Keith to swallow his spoonful of food goo porridge before he asks, “You’re not just out here for me, right?”

Keith’s quiet for a long moment, dragging his spoon through his bowl. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

Shiro nods, accepting Keith’s honesty— knows he’d never lie to him— and stares down into his bowl, too. He’s gotten strangely fond of food goo, really. But he’ll be glad to resupply with some fresher products once they’re on Olkarion.

But Keith doesn’t let it sit at just that. He says, “I meant what I said. That I get it. I… I don’t want to be a soldier, either.”

Shiro turns his head, a soft sound escaping his throat before he can swallow it back.

Keith smiles at him, shrugging. “I don’t really know who I am now, either. I thought… well, this could be a start to figuring it out. Or at least, I could just— fuck around with my best friend for a while and not worry about when and how we’ll all die because of one fuck up.”

“I mean, LP could still explode. We did hand-build her,” Shiro says.

He’s glad it makes Keith laugh. He swivels in his chair enough so he can kick at Shiro’s shin. Shiro laughs and scoots his legs away, crossing them up so he’s sitting folded up on the pilots seat.

“I get what you mean,” Shiro assures. Keith nods.

“I thought it’d be fun. And I love— spending time with you,” Keith says. “I didn’t think about it too deeply. I want you to be happy. I want to be happy. We have fun together.”

Shiro sighs, relief flooding through him. Glad, at least, that it isn’t only for Shiro’s sake.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Also,” Keith says, setting his bowl of porridge down. “I ran some calculations and we can still get to T’vinb from Olkarion without missing the Fire Festival.”

Shiro perks up. “Keith— that’s great.”

Keith flashes him a grin. “And from T’vinb, we’re stopping at whatever planets look interesting on the way to your green lava. No exceptions, got it?”

Shiro laughs, warmth flooding through him. “Yes sir, Captain.”

Keith laughs, too, and the air between them settles— warm, gentle, and understood.

-

The next day, they send a hailing message to Olkarion while they’re still a few vargas out as warning of their imminent arrival. They receive a customary welcoming reply and directions for approach.

Once they’re in range of the planet, they’re sent instructions for entering Olkarion’s atmosphere and the landing coordinates. The instructions direct LP to a visitor’s hangar to touch down right in the bustling center of the Olkari capital city center.

They descend from their ship, still wearing their casual clothes. It’s only when Shiro takes in the Olkari greeting them that he thinks they should have worn something a little more formal— but they don’t have their Paladin suits and Shiro’s certainly not putting his Admiral coat back on (even if it weren’t stained).

Ryner herself is there to greet them and she approaches them with her arms wide.

“I’ve really taken to the human ‘hug’,” she explains as she envelops first Shiro and then Keith in a firm hug that nearly squeezes the air from Shiro’s lungs. “Greetings, Paladins. We’re honored to have you here.”

“Thank you for having us,” Shiro answers automatically, still a little shocked to be hugged. Keith looks a little bug-eyed, too.

This, at least, Shiro’s well-versed in. Ryner asks them about their journey and Shiro falls into autopilot— exchanging pleasantries and humming affirmations to Ryner’s observations. He feels a little guilty for not being more enthusiastic— Ryner is lovely, after all— but the Garrison weighs on his back.

Then Ryner asks after Pidge and, well, it’s easy enough to gush about their youngest Paladin. He catches Keith’s amused smile out of the corner of his eye as they walk. Pidge helps keep the conversation flowing, keeping it from feeling too stuffily diplomatic. Ryner seems in good spirits, too, delighted to hear of Pidge’s advancement of and experimentation with Olkari tech on Earth.

“She’s a clever one,” Ryner says with a smile.

“She definitely is,” Shiro agrees, laughing.

A quarter of a varga later, Ryner stops just before a great hall, one of the Olkari cubes arriving to chirp decisively at her before scooting away.

“This is where I must leave you,” she says. “But I imagine you’ll appreciate the time to settle and enjoy the city.”

Shiro nods, fighting back an amused smile. Well, Ryner always was a wise one.

“If you’ll indulge us, we were hoping to have a feast for the two of you this evening, in celebration of your visit.”

Ryner is kind enough and a friend of the Paladins. Shiro sees it for the diplomacy that it is, can just sniff out the Garrison’s hopes for photo-ops and other such nonsense. But then, Shiro and Keith can hardly say no to delicious food and good company. It’s not a hardship to have a feast with Ryner.

They settle the details and Ryner has one of the cubes send the information to Keith’s PADD. That leaves them to enjoy the city. Their ship’s refueling in her hangar, and that means Keith and Shiro need to find some necessities their ship’s lacking, and some fresh and shelf-stable food to supplement what’s left of Hunk’s gifts.

The Olkari market is a bustling open-air collection of tents and carts smack dab in the center of a massive courtyard, circular in shape with all roads leading to it. The air is full of the Olkari language, citizens and intergalactic visitors alike bartering, laughing, and carrying on. It’s lively and vibrant and a stark contrast to the last time the Paladins had been to Olkarion.

It warms Shiro to see, even more so than how the nature beyond the city’s walls has slowly infiltrated the urban landscape. Everywhere he turns, a tree coils around a building, vines draped across windowsills. There are buildings curved around trees, accommodating their presence. It’s remarkable and humbling to see how quickly the Olkari people have bounced back from the Empire’s influence.

Shiro and Keith make short work of blasting through their budgeted GAC, the wolf helpfully carrying some of their purchased supplies.

“Yeah, bye, money,” Keith says with a shrug as he shoves a giant, fluffy blanket into a bag. It’s a blanket they don’t necessarily _need_ , but it’s too fluffy to ignore. Running his fingers over it, it reminded Shiro of chinchilla fur— impossible to resist when thinking about the chilly nights on LP. It also means they’ll be able to make a proper bed for the wolf with the extra supplies. Shiro’s grateful for that, since he hates to think of the wolf being stuck on the floor.

Everything seems settled between them and Shiro’s grateful for that. If anything, there’s expectation. They have their mandated stop, and after that— it’s up in the air. The whole universe is waiting for them out there. Shiro’s grateful they’ve cleared that air.

They wander the market, picking up some shelf-stable grains for the ship and a few more blankets. Shiro’s eyes cast over a vendor selling clothes— shirts for Keith, perhaps— but hesitates to say something. Keith’s shoulder is still exposed to the open air of the market, Shiro’s shirt loose and pretty on Keith’s body.

They pass by the vendor. Keith doesn’t mention needing to buy clothes. Shiro’s heart leaps.

“Hope this isn’t too boring,” Shiro tells Keith.

Keith shakes his head. “I like this.” He bumps his hip against Shiro’s, hard enough that Shiro nearly stumbles into a vendor’s booth. “I don’t need adventure. Just… good company.”

He smiles up at Shiro, almost shy, and Shiro beams back. “Yeah. Me too. I just want to see all the worlds we can.”

Keith nods. “We will.”

He loops his arm with Shiro’s and swivels from their path, taking a sharp left turn and yanking Shiro towards a booth of Olkari vegetables. They’re all loopy and curlicued and Shiro can’t tell if they’re leafy greens, root vegetables, or both.

Keith’s arm stays linked through his for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Shiro’s heart pounds.

Keith pulls away only to pick up what looks like a bitter melon, if bitter melons were opalescent. “I love this. Let’s get five.”

Shiro laughs and hands over the GAC to the bewildered vendor.

Once they’re complete on all the things they need, they head back to the ship. On board LP, they pack away their newly purchased food and materials. The wolf makes quick work of snagging the fluffy blanket and curling up in a corner. Shiro’s sure he’d steal the bed if he could fit on it.

Shiro watches Keith open the drawers to pack away their other blankets and socks and waits for Keith to realize he still needs to buy some shirts.

But Keith just snaps the drawer shut and turns to smile at Shiro, leaning back against the cupboards.

“So,” he says. He scrubs a hand over the wolf’s head, seemingly unconcerned by the wolf’s blanket-stealing.

“So,” Shiro parrots, and grins when Keith rolls his eyes. He adds, “We still have a few vargas before we’re supposed to have dinner with Ryner and the others.”

Keith nods, hoisting up their final bag full of Olkari vegetables and sidling past Shiro to start unpacking. Shiro joins him, and together they orbit around one another, finding the nooks and crannies to fill with food. Shiro still can’t believe they bought five not-bitter melons. They’re supposed to taste like potatoes. Shiro’s not sure if he trusts an Olkari vendor to know what a potato is.

Keith’s shoulder brushes against his as he shoves a bag of rice up into the side cupboard. He slumps against Shiro, grinning up at him.

He looks happier now. Lighter, surer of himself. Or, perhaps, surer of Shiro— trusting Shiro to be truthful with Keith. Trusting Shiro to actually have fun.

It warms Shiro’s heart.

Keith hums up at him, and it sounds nearly like a purr— or the Galra equivalent of one. “All done.”

“And with vargas to spare. So what should we do now?”

“What do you feel like doing?” Keith asks.

Shiro shrugs. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead— but figures he can just follow the first thought that pops into his head. “Want to walk in the forest?”

Keith snorts. “Yeah, Shiro. Sounds good.”

And so they do.

-

Shiro loves the trees on Olkarion. They don’t respond to Keith and Shiro the way they do the Olkari— or even Pidge— but Shiro can feel the hum of their energy around them as they hike through a little trail near the city’s limits. The world is a riot of color— vibrant oranges, pulsing purples, the licking rainbows of pink and fuchsia and any other unruly neon.

On any other planet, Shiro thinks the green could be almost sickly, but here it soothes everything else out— vibrant, alive, here. The plants, the trees, the world itself, it all swells and swarms with life.

Shiro and Keith spend their afternoon following the trails looping through the forests. There are still Olkari living out here and they wave at the villages as they pass. They have no set destination in mind, and Shiro likes to think that’s purposeful— they’re just wandering. And it’s good.

They don’t talk much, and that’s good, too. Keith is a steady presence at his side. They pause occasionally to observe a strange plant or listen to the chorus of a strange bird. But otherwise, they pass the time together in a leisurely hike.

Through the trees, they watch clouds roll in. Keith asks, “Do you think it storms on Olkarion?”

“With all this green? Absolutely,” Shiro says, eyeing the clouds. They don’t look like clouds on Earth— voluminous and a deep ocean blue. He thinks the air smells like electricity, although he isn’t sure.

“The leaves around here are big,” Keith says. “We should be fine.”

They didn’t think to bring any protective gear. Keith has a backpack full of water and a couple snacks, just in case, but otherwise it’s just them. But Keith doesn’t seem bothered and that must bleed into Shiro, as well, because he doesn’t find himself stressing about it.

They keep walking, and Shiro even gives into the temptation to climb up one of the trees. He trots forward, grasps a low-hanging branch, and swings himself up into it. He laughs at Keith’s squawk of surprise.

He holds a hand down for Keith and hoists him up, too. Keith laughs, feet kicking out as he scrambles to hang on, and together, they climb up the branches. Halfway up the tree, they settle on a massive bough, tall enough to give them a nice view of the shorter trees, but still shaded enough for any potential rainfall.

Keith smiles the entire time, his eyes glittering. Shiro swings his legs and stares off into the gloaming of the forest.

“This is nice,” he says.

Keith hums and drops his head to nudge against Shiro’s shoulder. He rests there for a moment before he seems to think better of himself, straightening up again. Shiro misses him like a missing limb.

“It’s nice,” Keith agrees. He unzips his backpack and pulls out two snack bars, handing the first to Shiro and unwrapping the second for himself. Keith snorts around a mouthful of the bar. “Sitting in a tree eating a seed bar. I feel like a squirrel.”

Shiro snorts and butts his head against Keith’s shoulder this time. He indulges and lets himself linger, just resting against Keith’s shoulder.

After a moment, Keith tilts his head, cheek pressing against the top of Shiro’s head.

“I don’t think Olkarion has squirrels,” Shiro says.

“Guess we’re the squirrels, then,” Keith decides, and Shiro feels Keith’s voice rumble through his body. He closes his eyes, indulging in the feeling of it.

He regrets when he has to pull away and they climb back down the tree to continue their walk. The clouds above them rumble loudly and it’s definitely a threat of lightning, that electricity zinging the air making Shiro’s metal arm tingle.

The clouds open just as the two of them crest a hill. One moment the air is thick with almost-rain and then it’s an onslaught. Keith barks a shocked laugh.

“Oh shit—”

He grabs Shiro by his wrist and yanks, and together they run back towards the canopy cover. They both laugh, the world splashing around them. It takes only a few tics before they’re absolutely drenched, their clothes soaked through.

Beneath a massive tree, they watch the storm sweep through. The sky’s a chorus of thunder. Keith laughs beside him again, slumping against the smooth trunk.

“Shit,” Keith says again.

“We have bad timing,” Shiro agrees, laughing. They’d crested the hill only so they could see the Olkari city. Beneath this tree, the rain barely touches them. Just a few wayward drops make their way through the massive, fibrous leaves.

Keith steps back and ducks his head, gathering all his hair in his hands and wringing it out. He straightens again, his inky hair fisted in his hands, and Shiro can’t stop staring. Water slides down his sleek, lithe body. Little droplets bead at his exposed shoulder, then slip to pool in the hollow of his collarbones.

Shiro swallows. Keith’s beautiful— and it’s hard not to stare. Shiro’s shirt, loose on Keith’s body, clings to his chest and arms now, soaked through and making the fabric darker with rain.

The shirt that Shiro is wearing, on the other hand, is nearly translucent with rain— white fabric clinging to his body. He tries to rip his eyes away from Keith as Keith wrings out his hair and then the shirt. It curls up easily in Keith’s hands, exposing his stomach. Shiro wants to lick his abs.

An embarrassing thought. He coughs and scrubs his hand through his much shorter hair to knock loose the excess water. He’s just glad his Altean hand is water-resistant.

He glances at Keith again just in time for Keith’s eyes to slide towards Shiro, too.

Shiro looks down at his chest, slicking his hands over his front to get rid of excess water there, too. He can see his own nipples through his shirt.

When he looks at Keith again, he’s still staring— but with Shiro’s eyes on him, he looks away quickly with a small, soft cough.

Scrambling for something to say, Shiro watches Keith fiddle with his hair again. It looks longer wet, curling at the back of his neck.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Shiro says, settling on something more neutral. His throat feels tight.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith answers. “I’m, um… I’m thinking of growing it out. Trying out long hair. You know?”

“Oh yeah?” Shiro asks as he lifts his shirt, wringing that out in his hands and watching the water drip down against the ground. Above them, the rain hits the trees hard, enough to shake the thick branches but not enough to hit the ground beneath.

“Yeah,” Keith chokes, but when Shiro drops his shirt and looks up at Keith, he can’t tell what Keith’s looking at— staring up at the tops of the trees. Keith clears his throat. “I mean, I might just chop it off with my blade if I lose patience with it.”

That makes Shiro laugh. “Sounds like you.”

Keith’s mouth hints a smile. He glances at Shiro and then away again. “Guess so.”

“I mean, I think long hair will suit you,” Shiro says. “I think you’d look good.”

Keith’s silent for a beat, staring up at the trees. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, adjusting it. Damp and heavy with rain, the collar stretches enough to expose both of Keith’s shoulders, settling in a damning line across his collarbones, as if trying to personally torture Shiro.

“Thanks,” Keith finally says, voice thready. He clears his throat. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“Sure,” Shiro answers. “And if you want help cutting it, just let me know.” He grins when Keith glances at him. “I’m pretty good at undercuts.”

Keith laughs. “Consider me shocked.”

Shiro nods his head down the path where they came. “Come on. We should probably head back if we want enough time to change before dinner.”

“Sure,” Keith says, eyes sweeping over Shiro one last time before he steps forward and leads the way down the path.

-

That night, Keith and Shiro are seated side by side near the head of a grand table, Ryner at the head of it.

Shiro’s maybe a little embarrassed at the fanfare, but he’s not about to show it on his face. He’s always loved Olkari cuisine, though, and he doesn’t even have to feign delight as the first course is set in front of him. It looks _delicious._ It takes all his diplomatic know-how not to just start shoveling food into his mouth.

It smells divine; Olkari cuisine is as close as Shiro’s found to his grandparents’ traditional Japanese cooking.

“We’re honored to have you visit us again, Paladins,” Ryner says as the first courses are taken away in preparation for the second course.

Shiro likes Ryner. He understands why Pidge gelled with her, in the end— her eyes are kind and she exudes wisdom, but he can tell she isn’t without her humor.

“We’re happy and honored to be here,” Shiro answers, and finds that he means it. “Keith and I are excited for our trip across the universe, but it feels appropriate that we’d stop here first.”

Beneath the table, Keith’s foot taps Shiro’s— their own private joke. It seems the heated moment between them yesterday is well and truly behind them and Shiro’s grateful for it. _It feels appropriate to stop here_ , indeed.

There’s flashing on the other side of the room, a few Olkari cubes snapping photos. Shiro finds he genuinely doesn’t mind. The small, petty part of himself is grateful that the Garrison can stew in frustration when they don’t come to their next stop.

“Worth it for the food, too,” Keith pipes up beside Shiro, his grin wry. He steps on the top of Shiro’s boot this time.

Shiro has to muffle his own smile. He kicks his foot out and steps on Keith’s foot instead.

Ryner seems pleased with the compliments. “Thank you. We have no doubt you’ll have a great journey. I imagine it’d be a great adventure to travel the universe with your romantic partner.”

Keith, halfway through a second playful step on Shiro’s boot, must misjudge the distance because he stomps down hard on Shiro’s toes. Shiro nearly flinches, but he’s too busy dropping his spoon as the words register.

“Oh,” Shiro says before he can think to swallow the word back. He feels his cheeks flame, undoubtedly burning bright red.

He chances a glance towards Keith. His foot’s still pressing down relentlessly against Shiro’s boot, and he’s similarly wide-eyed to how Shiro feels. His mouth’s poised around the cup he’s drinking from.

When Shiro’s eyes are on him, Keith suddenly slams his cup back down, blushing.

Shiro clears his throat, looking back at Ryner. Neutrally, he says, “Thank you, but… Keith and I are only friends.”

His voice is even. Neutral. Unassuming. He’s grateful for that.

“Ah,” Ryner says, and Shiro envies her ability to not even look embarrassed by the slip-up. “My mistake. Considering your unique departure from Earth and the other Paladins’ absence… I had assumed.”

Shiro wants to demand more— what about them made Ryner think they were together? Was there something about the way Shiro looked at Keith and, worse still, does Keith also see the way Shiro looks at him? But there’s no diplomatic way to word that question, and certainly not in a way that wouldn’t betray it all to Keith.

Shiro flounders for a pained moment. His heart thunders away from him.

Ryner saves him, taking a sip from her drink and saying, “My point does stand, of course. Traveling the universe with a loved one, regardless of the type of love, is a great treasure.”

That much Shiro can agree with: Keith is, above all else, beloved. 

And Shiro knows that Keith loves him, even if only as a brother and friend. _A great treasure._ Yes. That Shiro can agree with absolutely. He looks back to Keith with a smile, although Keith isn’t looking at him. “Yes, it’s a treasure,” Shiro tells Ryner. “I’ve always been lucky to have Keith’s friendship.”

That makes Keith look up at him again, something pinching his eyes. Fiercely, staring into Shiro’s eyes, he says, “Luck’s got nothing to do with it, Shiro.”

Shiro’s smile grows. “Of course, Keith.”

“Ahh,” Ryner hums as she takes a sip of her drink but says nothing more.

-

“So that was weird,” Keith says later as they walk down the long, expansive hallway to their guest bedroom. Ryner’s set up a guest suite for them to sleep in and get a good night’s rest before heading back out on their journey.

Shiro’s grateful for it if only because he’s sure Keith will sleep better with a bed all to himself and a little more leg room. Shiro’s certain he’s not going to sleep regardless; he never manages to sleep in new places, after all.

“Yeah,” Shiro says in response absently. Then he hums. “What was?”

“Ryner thinking we’re together,” Keith says casually as he shoulders into the door to their guest suite. It swings open, revealing a modest sitting area and two hammocks made of manipulated vines slung up in the corners— their sleeping arrangements for the evening.

So much for legroom then. But at least Ryner didn’t accidentally give them one hammock. He has endless faith in Keith, but he’s uncertain if they’d be able to sleep in a joint-hammock.

“Oh. Yeah. That,” Shiro says.

As if he’d forget that. As if Keith could be talking about anything else but that. But then, of course Keith would find it strange that someone would think they’re together.

Shiro forces a laugh. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

Keith shrugs, which is definitely not an answer.

“I guess it’s easy for it to look like… like that,” Keith says quietly. He steps into the room, tossing aside his discarded backpack and toeing off his boots.

“You think so?” Shiro asks, heart kicking up in his chest. He must be too obvious. He must stare at Keith too much. He must touch Keith too much. Shiro’s always known that, but Keith’s never told him to stop, much less seemed uncomfortable with it all.

It’s just how they’ve always been. That’s just what their friendship is.

“I guess,” Keith says neutrally. “It could be romantic. You know. Running away together.”

Shiro’s in agony. As soon as Keith says it, he knows it’s true— if he heard of two people sweeping away in the dead of night (or early morning, in their case), abandoning their responsibilities, he’d absolutely think it was romantically-driven. But it’s Shiro and Keith. It’s not like that.

“At least she didn’t see the one bed,” Shiro says in a pathetic attempt at a joke.

Keith nods, looking down at his feet. He doesn’t look particularly happy.

Shiro makes a soft sound. “Keith,” he says and waits for Keith to look up at him. “Does it bother you?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’m used to people not understanding me, or us,” Keith says. “We’re friends.”

 _Brothers,_ Shiro thinks to himself but doesn’t say aloud; Keith’s called them such at least twice that Shiro can remember. He’s never managed to agree or say it back.

But Keith’s right on that, too. He’s used to people not understanding his friendship with Keith— certainly the Paladins at times, people at the Garrison long ago, and strangers, too.

Shiro is Keith’s first true friend. And, if Shiro’s being honest, Keith is Shiro’s first one, too. It makes sense to Shiro that their friendship would be intense as a result. It’s all they had for a long time.

Shiro’s not about to ruin that by being selfish— by wanting more than what Keith is willing to give to him. He’s been selfish enough with everything Keith’s done for him in the time they’ve known each other. Hell, running away from the Garrison now is just another item on a long list of selfishness at Keith’s expense.

Shiro knows he’s been silent for too long. “Yeah,” he agrees, smiling. “We’re friends.”

Keith nods, looking satisfied.

They get ready for bed in silence, broken only when Keith attempts to climb into his hammock and flips it around twice, clinging to it and hissing. Shiro laughs, laces his fingers together to make a step for Keith, and helps him scoop up into it.

Then Keith laughs in his face when Shiro attempts to get into his hammock and faces the same issues. They settle eventually, though, both of them chuckling.

“I’m going to roll right out of this thing,” Keith declares.

“I’ll catch you,” Shiro promises and it makes Keith laugh.

-

Shiro flinches when he wakes up. It isn’t the hammock’s fault, he knows, but his general muscle pain; even with the cure to his disease thanks to a cloned body, he still gets the tensed muscles coiled up inside of him. It’s why he typically does the pushups in the morning, in his attempt to loosen his muscles up and keep him from feeling all this tension.

It seems the lack of sleep over the last few days has finally taken its toll. Shiro sighs, reaching absently for his wrist and digging his thumb in against the tendons. He’s used to that flare of pain and welcomes it, knowing it’ll ease. He sucks in a breath and lets it back out again, cool and even.

“Are you alright?” Keith asks, voice groggy as he shifts in his own hammock. It’s a wonder to Shiro that Keith managed to sense Shiro’s pain or hear the intake of his breath. Whatever it was that alerted Keith to it, it was enough to wake him up.

But then, Keith’s always been so observant.

“Mm,” Shiro grunts, and with some difficulty manages to rock the hammock forward and plant his feet on the floor before he ends up tumbling out of it. “Yeah,” he croaks, curling and uncurling his fingers. “Just sore.”

Keith grunts, too, and rolls out of the hammock unceremoniously, landing on all fours— not unlike a cat. _Giant space cat,_ Shiro corrects fondly as Keith slinks over to Shiro, frowning at the way Shiro grips his wrist.

And Shiro knows better than to lie to Keith, especially about this. He knows he can trust Keith, instinctively, whole-heartedly. He never needs to hide something like this from him.

“Just another day with tight muscles,” Shiro explains, dropping his hold on his wrist.

“Can I help?” Keith asks instead of offering sympathy or platitudes. Shiro has always loved that about him, among other things.

Shiro shakes his head. “I just… have to wait for it to pass.”

By now, he’d usually be forcing his way through some pushups, even if it hurt. But he has a feeling Keith isn’t going to let him get away with that.

Instead, Keith packs up their things in a flurry, a determined set to his jaw.

Keith fetches breakfast for them both to enjoy in their room so Shiro doesn’t have to move too much. They eat in a peaceful, comfortable silence and Keith doesn’t make a face when Shiro can only use his mechanical arm to move anything, eating with some difficulty.

He’d be embarrassed if it were happening in front of anyone else. Yes, he is still embarrassed, but it’s also Keith and it’s impossible to be upset with him around.

Their departure from Olkarion is a quiet one. Once their breakfast is finished, Keith ushers Shiro back to their flyer. They leave the planet as quietly as they arrived, which Shiro privately thinks is what they both prefer. Ryner is there to see them off, wishing them well and inviting them to visit again soon with all the Paladins.

Keith is silent as he pilots the ship and sets their course. He locks in the autopilot before turning to Shiro.

“I’m turning off the gravity,” he announces, then stands and retreats to do just that before Shiro can say anything more.

Shiro heaves a sigh of relief as the gravity disappears. He wasn’t strapped into his seat so he floats up past the arm rests. It’s a relief not to feel gravity and pressure on his limbs and he feels himself lengthen and starfish out, as if lying on a mattress. He floats gently through the air, weightless in a way that makes him ache. But it’s a pleasant ache, an ache of longing more than anything else.

Keith returns shortly thereafter, hooking his hands on the doorway in order to launch himself forward. He catches his foot on the back of the pilot’s chair to keep himself from crashing into Shiro.

“Better?” Keith asks.

“Much,” Shiro agrees, sure that the relief is evident on his face. “Thank you, Keith.”

Keith smiles then and shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ll keep it off as long as you need, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says.

“Can I help?” Keith asks again, just as he did this morning. “What can I do?”

Shiro isn’t sure. His flare-ups have always been a part of him— part of his near-daily routine before Kerberos, before everything. Something he’d long accepted.

And even with his cure, the flare-ups linger.

Shiro can’t be angry about that. He’ll take this if it means he’s still alive, anyway.

He’s spent his whole life thinking he’d be broken down and grounded by now. And now he’s not. Now he’s healthy, save for the shadow of his own disease. He’ll take it, every time, if it means being up in the stars.

“I don’t have my braces anymore,” Shiro says, flexing and unflexing his fingers. “I just need a way to loosen my muscles up, I think.”

Keith frowns and then, cautiously, lets himself float closer. He catches Shiro’s wrist with unbearable gentleness, his hold loose— like he’s ready to release him immediately. But Shiro doesn’t flinch in pain or otherwise make a sound.

So Keith starts massaging Shiro’s wrist, his thumb working against his tendons. It pulls a low sigh from Shiro. Keith glances up.

Shiro bites his lip. “That’s good.”

Emboldened by the quiet go-ahead, Keith ducks his head and works in earnest. He thumbs down Shiro’s forearm, from wrist to elbow, then back up again. He pushes his thumbs tight into Shiro’s palm. Shiro doesn’t quite need the stimulation there, but it’s a relaxing feeling to have Keith’s undivided attention, and he feels himself relax so fully that soon he’s just boneless— floating through the air at Keith’s mercy.

Helplessly, Shiro watches Keith. He’s focused on his work, staring down at Shiro’s arm as he massages slowly, kneading with his thumbs first and then his whole hand, palming up Shiro’s body and working into his aching muscles.

Shiro knows he must look absolutely moony, must look so painfully in love. But he can’t help it. Keith’s so focused, so determined, so bright and shining and perfect. And Shiro’s always going to be weak, always going to be falling into his orbit.

“Thanks,” Shiro says after a near half varga with Keith kneading into his sore muscles. “I feel less like an old man already.”

He expects Keith to laugh. He doesn’t, his thumbs pressed against Shiro’s wrist, his mouth quirking into a frown.

“You’re still young, Shiro.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Shiro knows he’s young— still young, in the grand scheme, although it’s taken readjustment for him to know that this isn’t the _end._ He always knew his life would be short, and now that it’s been lengthened due to everything that’s happened, it feels like too much to consider a universe in which he _does_ grow old.

Difficult to consider himself young, still a boy in so many ways. Difficult to imagine himself as carefree and reckless like he once was, dampened by responsibility and leadership and expectation. He sometimes thinks of the boy he was before Kerberos and wants to cry, mourning that Shiro now lost forever.

Keith is still young, too— fiery, determined, perfect. They’re both still young. The entire universe stretches out before them, their entire lives, and it’s so much.

“I know,” Shiro says. He laughs and it comes out brittle. “But I feel old.”

“Well,” Keith says. “I guess it’s hard to know what to do with yourself after you’ve already saved the universe from complete destruction.”

Shiro laughs again, the sound splintering out of him. “A bit hard to top that, yes. I think all the Paladins have peaked.”

That does make Keith laugh. He drops Shiro’s hand only so he can reach out for him and yank him into a hug. Without gravity, Shiro’s helpless against the momentum— not that he’d ever want to fall from Keith’s orbit. Shiro’s body protests the sudden movement, but Shiro doesn’t care, slumping gratefully into Keith’s arms.

“We don’t have to have the answers, Shiro,” Keith says. They swirl through the air together. Keith catches his foot against the wall and pushes lightly so they bob back into the center of the cockpit. “It’s okay for us to just… figure out what’s next.”

Shiro’s eyes flicker down towards the control panel, where the compass is mounted. That sense of direction— of purpose. He tightens his grip on Keith and hugs him back fiercely. He presses his face down against his shoulder, chuffing a breath when Keith rubs his back.

“We have time,” Keith murmurs into his ear. Softer this time, he says again, “You’re still young, Shiro.”

Shiro laughs. “Considering I think this happened because of our hike yesterday… Climbing that tree didn’t help.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Thanks,” Shiro murmurs. They draw away from the hug after a long pause, smiling at one another.

“So?” Keith asks, nodding down at Shiro’s wrist.

Shiro wriggles his fingers experimentally, relieved when it doesn’t send pinpricks of pain shooting up his arm. Still, he sighs out as Keith grabs his fingers, tangling them with his for a brief moment as he adjusts and starts rolling Shiro’s wrist.

“So…” Shiro says. “Fire Festival next?”

“That’s the idea.” Keith rolls Shiro’s wrist for him. “If you’re feeling up for it. We’re still several days out.”

Shiro nods. “I should be fine. These things don’t ever last long.”

“I guess I didn’t realize you still got them,” Keith mutters.

Shiro smiles. “Guilty. I haven’t mentioned it.” He looks up at Keith. “Sorry.”

Keith shakes his head. “I get why you wouldn’t.” He sighs out. “Sorry I couldn’t help before, in that case.”

Shiro shakes his head, too. He catches Keith’s hand and gives it a squeeze— both for reassurance and to demonstrate how much better his muscles are already. There’s no nerve pain today, either, which always makes it easier.

“Well… Right now, at least, I’m feeling much better,” Shiro says and demonstrates by rolling his wrist without Keith’s assistance. “Thanks, Keith.”

“Should I turn gravity back on?”

“Nah, leave it.”

Shiro spends the afternoon— or what passes for afternoon in space— floating along as Keith floats with him. They take turns strapping into the pilot’s seat to double-check their navigation. Shiro sends a few messages off to Allura and the others. Keith’s PADD beeps with an incoming transmission message from Krolia, which he spends a few vargas reading through and answering, outlining huge swaths of detail about their journey thus far for his mom.

“Phew,” Keith says after he sends it off. “I need a nap after that.”

Shiro laughs. “Krolia all caught up on your comings and goings?”

Keith laughs, too, his expression warm and fond as he thinks of his mom. “Yep. It’s funny… I hate talking and sharing a lot, you know? But after two years with her, it feels weird if she doesn’t know what I’m doing at every second of the day.”

“I don’t think that’s weird,” Shiro says. “Makes sense. You’re making up for lost time, right?”

Keith’s smile is fragile but gentle as he looks at Shiro and nods. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“I know you miss her,” Shiro answers. He catches the back of the pilots seat so he can’t float away, pulling himself back down closer to Keith. “I mean… You said you wanted to spend more time with her.”

“Hence why you thought I was ditching all of you for the Blades, right?” Keith teases.

“Well…”

Keith laughs, shaking his head. He unhooks himself from the seat and bobs upwards. Shiro catches him before he can hit the ceiling, and together they tumble through the air.

Once stable, Keith looks into his eyes and says: “You’re ridiculous.”

“You did great work with the Blades,” Shiro protests. Belatedly, he remembers to let go of Keith. “I bet they’d jump at the chance to get you back.”

“I guess so,” Keith says, hedging. “I did good work with them. Important work. But I did and do good and important work with all of you. I don’t want to leave that behind, either.”

“I know, Keith.”

They bob through the zero gravity for a moment. Keith looks down. “Besides, Mom’s thinking of leading the delegation of Blades based on Earth. That way, she can spend time with me. Plus, you know… she has a soft spot for Earth.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “Makes sense.”

Keith smiles. He swims through the air over towards Shiro, letting himself bump gently against his shoulder. Shiro lets his Altean hand lift and steady Keith, tethering him. They float together, side by side, sprawled out on their backs and staring up at the viewport above their heads.

“You know,” Keith says quietly, after a long pause. “I’m really happy, Shiro.”

Shiro smiles, helpless, overfull. “Yeah, Keith. Me too.”

“For a while there…” Keith trails off. “I mean, I believed in all of us but sometimes it’s impossible not to worry— if we’re all going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees.

“I’m just… grateful for what I have.”

Shiro hums, nodding. He stares up at the night sky sprawled out above them. “Is there anything else you’re hoping for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re grateful for what you have… but is there something more you want?”

Keith hums, thoughtful, but doesn’t answer for a long moment.

“Not really,” Keith finally says. “I mean. That’s not really how I operate.”

Shiro knows that much is true. For so long, Keith was always waiting for something— everything— to end. Even if he’s more optimistic now, it can be difficult to pull that away from his thinking.

“What about you?” Keith asks.

Shiro stares out over the expanse of stars and arcing arms of the galaxy and thinks that, yes, he wants to be here. He was born to be here.

“I want to stay like this forever,” Shiro confesses. He hears Keith hum beside him, something gentle and serene. Shiro turns his head, regarding him, and adds, “With you.”

Keith looks back up at him, his mouth curving into a smile. “Yeah, Shiro.”

“For as long as you can stomach me, at least,” Shiro adds, hiding the truth of the words behind a smile, knowing even then that Keith will see through it. “Get as much Keith time as I can before you get sick of me.”

He’s proud of how steady it comes out. Like he’s not terrified of it, constantly— worried, in some small way, that Keith will someday realize that Shiro’s just a dying star, winking in and out until, someday, finally gone.

Keith’s quiet, just looking at him, and then says, “As if I ever could.”

Shiro laughs, a helpless, broken thing, filled with a strange mix of longing and pride. There was a time, once, lifetimes ago, when he was sure he’d never see any of this ever again, that he’d be grounded, forever gone from the stars. That Keith would be up here, away from him, forever out of his reach. A star he can count on every night, but too distant to ever be near again.

He was always so sure he’d never get to see the great things Keith would accomplish. That he would disappear, a long distant memory to Keith, forgotten after a long stretch of years with Keith soaring through the sky, never thinking back on a school year friendship.

How long ago it all feels now.

Their souls have literally touched. Sometimes when Shiro thinks about it that way, it feels impossible that he could ever be away from Keith.

_As if I ever could._

-

Shiro’s peace shatters because of a nightmare. It’s inevitable. Shiro knew he could only go so many nights before he was hit with them.

Still, Shiro nearly falls from their bed when he awakes with a strangled shout, shoving himself away from danger, scrambling over the bed.

Keith is up in a flash after him— he was always such a light sleeper. “Shiro?”

Shiro’s body still aches from the muscle spasms, and now he knows he’s too tense— all tightened up from adrenaline, a fight or flight. He’s panting, eyes wide and heart pounding. He tries to speak, but he can’t manage words.

Keith holds his hands out to him and they’re trembling, his eyes just as wide. He looks like he wants to touch Shiro but he hesitates.

“Shiro, please—”

“I—” Shiro gulps down, gasping, his heart a painful hummingbird in his chest. He stares at Keith’s hands, trembling but held out to him in supplication. Shiro clenches his eyes shut, trying to steady himself, and only sees the disparate images of too many things from his past, frightening and grotesque. He can’t pinpoint any one memory that’s manifested as a nightmare. But it hardly matters. Enough has happened to him that it hardly matters what it is tonight.

It’s all the same. All of it.

“Sorry,” Shiro gasps, voice thick with unshed tears. He scrubs at his face and then haphazardly reaches out to grasp one of Keith’s hands. He squeezes once before he lets go. “I’m fine.”

“I—” Keith begins, looking pained. “I didn’t realize you still had nightmares.”

Shiro laughs, bitter and jagged and pained. He remembers many nights on the Black Lion when he woke Keith up with his gasping and his shouting. Keith’s pain on his behalf haunts him more than whatever it is he dreamt about those nights.

“Yeah,” Shiro admits, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just another thing that hasn’t changed.”

“Shiro…” Keith breathes, and then scoots closer. This time, he presses his hands to Shiro’s body, holding him with such gentleness that Shiro knows he could shrug out of it if he needed to. He doesn’t dare move, though, gulping down one last breath and clenching his eyes shut tight.

“I know,” Shiro says, voice sounding wooden to his ears. “I know. I— yeah.”

Keith grunts, his hand squeezing tight at Shiro’s shoulder, the other pressing against his clavicle, so close to his heart.

“How can I help?” Keith asks, frowning. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Shiro shakes his head. He never really talked about these before, with Keith or anyone, and the desire hardly comes now. His body aches, tensed and sore, his muscles screaming in familiar protest. He slumps forward, his forehead pressing down against Keith’s shoulder.

Slowly, Shiro feels Keith’s hands slide up his chest and hook around the back of his neck, holding him close. Not quite a hug, but something tender. As if Keith might be able to protect him from this, too. He knows it frustrates Keith to know his limitations. To know that he can’t protect Shiro from all things.

Sometimes, when Shiro’s feeling morbid, he wonders what Keith would have done— if Shiro hadn’t been magically cured from his disease. If he’d died several years down the line. Just another person who left Keith behind. He doesn’t like to think about it, but the thought comes to him uninhibited sometimes, painful and jagged and sticking deep inside his brain.

Keith’s fingertips touch at the back of Shiro’s head, brushing through the short buzz of his hair. The feeling of it is grounding and Shiro closes his eyes, trying to match his breathing to Keith’s. He thinks that Keith might be taking purposefully deep breaths specifically for that reason.

“Sorry,” he finally says weakly.

“Don’t you dare,” Keith says, nearly snapping it out, but softens his voice immediately after to say, “It isn’t your fault. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Shiro listens to Keith’s breathing, matching the deep inhale with Keith’s, exhaling in time with him. He lets himself fall into that liminal space— that strange, expansive silence that sometimes reminds Shiro of being inside Black. Just quiet, endless quiet. Keith’s breath is a centering rattle. Keith’s breath is everything.

“Keith,” he murmurs, taking a deep breath. He has nothing more to say beyond that, something plucked out deep from his chest.

Keith hums in acknowledgement and says nothing more, his hands on Shiro, grounding him.

“They still get me sometimes,” Shiro admits in a tiny voice. That much is obvious. It’s a statement without purpose.

“It’s okay,” Keith whispers. “You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

Shiro focuses on the sentiment of it: he’s safe. He isn’t in the arena. He isn’t stranded, alone, in Black’s consciousness. He isn’t strapped to a table. He isn’t a mindless clone trying to murder his friends. He isn’t a poor, sick boy staring at the stars and knowing he’s going to die. He’s not a weapon. He’s not a monster.

He’s just a man in the stars, held in the comforting circle of someone else’s arms. His best friend. The love of his life.

Shiro feels himself slowly relaxing. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to sleep, but at least he can have this. His heartbeat feels nearly normal again.

Like this, there’s some comfort. Even if this is the only way Keith will ever hold him, at least it’s comforting. At least, like this, Shiro can feel like a human again.

“I hate how bad these still hit me,” he admits once he dares to draw away from Keith.

Keith shakes his head. “It makes sense. After everything.”

Shiro shrugs, feeling bone-tired but too hyped to even fall asleep. Keith seems jittery, too, his expression pinched around his worry.

“I should be better by now.”

“There’s no ’should’ about it,” Keith scolds, not unkindly. He runs his hand over the back of Shiro’s neck, kneading once, before it settles at the familiar spot of Shiro’s shoulder. “If anybody gives you shit for not being ‘perfect’ then I’ll kick them into the next sun for you.”

Shiro laughs, punched out of him in a surprised little burst. His expression softens as he looks at Keith, drinking him in. Keith’s eyes glow in the dark, as always. He’s still not used to it— just another Galra Thing.

“My hero,” Shiro murmurs.

Keith smirks. “Damn right.”

That makes Shiro laugh, warmed. “Keith…”

Keith’s expression is warm as he reaches for Shiro, as he touches him, comforting him. He coaxes Shiro down, holding him in the circle of his arms. Like that, Shiro can’t help but relax.

Neither of them sleep, but they don’t speak again. They lie like that, facing one another. Letting the day cycle slowly brighten the lights around them.

Shiro never stops staring into Keith’s glowing eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are halfway through this story ahhh!! ♥ Thank you again to everyone who's been reading and supporting this fic... srsly, your comments have been giving me so much life.

Shiro and Keith arrive on T’vinb without incident, touching down in the capital city just as the two suns are sinking beneath the horizon, blasting the sky into a riot of colors.

It looks, Shiro thinks, exactly like fire. It seems appropriate, considering the festival’s prominence, and Shiro can’t hold back his small smile as Keith disembarks LP with barely contained excitement.

The sky is red, and the light seems to dance across the crown of Keith’s head. Shiro follows behind him as they exit the hangar they’ve rented for their stay.

A few paces away, someone is approaching. The people of T’vinb, the Trox, look exactly like bipedal dragons, Shiro thinks, and the ambassador striding towards them is no different, eyes keen and spiny protrusions erupting from his spine.

“Wish we could have snuck in unnoticed,” Keith says, voice low so the Trox ambassador won’t hear.

Shiro wishes the same, really. But it’s impossible to go unnoticed when logging their coordinates and requesting permission to dock planetside. Shiro just has to consider it a small mercy that it’s a relatively quiet welcoming committee— no major fanfare, no screaming fans, no snapping photos.

He lifts his hand and squeezes Keith’s shoulder, smiling softer when Keith leans back into the touch.

“We’ll be fine,” Shiro says just as the Trox ambassador stops before them, his wide tail swiping across the ground.

“Welcome, Paladins of Voltron!” the Trox ambassador says, the voluminous sleeves of his tunic flapping in the wind as he brings his four hands up to clasp together in greeting, his snout tipped down as he regards the two humans with undisguised curiosity.

“Thank you,” Shiro says politely.

“Welcome to T’vinb!” he says again. “My name is Vhalo and I’m tasked with helping you two settle in to our humble city.”

Vhalo punctuates his statement with a deep bow, his snout nearly touching the ground. Shiro and Keith quickly mimic the gesture, ducking forward, their hands tucked behind their backs. Shiro feels like he bows so low, he might topple over completely. Keith hides his smile behind the curtain of his hair slipping forward past his ears.

“Thanks for accommodating us on short notice,” Shiro answers as he leaves the bow, quickly easing into diplomacy as always. He tips a grin down at Keith and nudges him gently with his elbow. “We’re eager to see what this fire festival is all about.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “We’ve heard great things.”

Vhalo looks pleased at the compliment, beaming, his smile all pointed teeth. “You have excellent timing! Our festival lasts a movement and you’ve arrived only a quintant in. Just in time for the party to get underway.” He chuckles. “First quintant tends to be a ramp-up.”

“We’re happy the timing worked out,” Shiro agrees. He briefly thinks of that deleted itinerary from the Garrison but feels no regret for it. It was worth it to come here if only for the stretching, riotous sunset.

Also because it’ll make Keith happy. And that’s most important of all.

Keith’s smile is a quiet thing, curled up at one corner, his eyes burning with the T’vinb sunset. “Great. We love to party.”

Vhalo sweeps one pair of arms out to gesture and they follow the ambassador across the open tarmac and into a long maze of twisting corridors and sharp-turning hallways. Shiro loses track entirely of where their ship is in relation to everything else, feeling vaguely dizzy.

When they break out of twisting doorways, Vhalo opens a massive door that opens into a wide city square. The sky still burns red and the city itself seems to mimic it— large swaths of red and earthy colors baked into the stones, into the paneling of the buildings, into the people themselves with their iridescent scales.

It’s clear the city’s decorated for the upcoming festival: everywhere Shiro looks, there are bright swaths of orange, yellow, and red in arching scarves and fabrics, bunting and lanterns swaying in the sweet evening breeze. Appropriately, there’s a massive bonfire burning in the center of the square.

“You’ll find fires living in all our squares tonight, Admiral,” Vhalo says, noting where Shiro’s eyes fall. He looks prideful, beaming as he watches the fire lick up into the air in plumes of sweet-smelling smoke. “We celebrate the gift of fire!”

“So your festival is predominately for celebration, then?” Shiro asks as Vhalo leads the two of them across the square. Shiro watches the fire dance and flicker through the air. Trox people move around it, tailing streamers behind them. The air is full of laughter and that sweet-smelling smoke— like honeysuckle or maple, Shiro thinks— and all around it’s clear that people are _happy._

Shiro feels a little twist in his chest, heart beating faster. There’s something like relief inside him, seeing so many people like this— alive, happy, carefree. Despite the war, there is still joy. Despite everything the universe has been through, there’s still so much to be grateful for.

“Yes,” Vhalo answers Shiro’s question.

“Do we get to burn things?” Keith asks, and grins when Shiro shoots him an alarmed look.

Vhalo laughs. “Yes, of course!”

They pause, watching the fire for a long moment. Vhalo looks reverent as he gazes upon it, his expression going serene. Around them, children laugh as they throw red-barked logs at the base of the bonfire.

Vhalo says, “Without fire, we could not live. Our people rely on external heat, you see— and what better way to give thanks to the fire that warms us than to feed it?”

“Awesome,” Keith says.

Vhalo laughs. “I agree, Paladin.”

Vhalo leads them towards a modest-looking building on the other side of the square. It’s just as decorated as the rest of the area, the inside curtains a burning red.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t find you better lodgings,” Vhalo says as one of his four arms reaches to hitch the door open. “But—”

“This is good,” Keith says. “We didn’t give you warning.”

“And we don’t need anything extravagant,” Shiro adds.

But it’s diplomacy: Vhalo demurs while Shiro and Keith insist it’s fine. Truthfully, LP is tight living quarters, and anything feels extravagant in comparison at this point.

Not that Shiro hates LP. Far from it. He likes being in Keith’s pocket, admittedly.

Vhalo places one of his clawed hands on a panel and the front door to the building opens, revealing a wide hallway and a series of winding stairs. He leads them up to the topmost floor.

Vhalo’s hands fall to a door’s four handles, turning them. He pauses before he swings the doors open and bows his head to the two of them.

“I hope this is to your liking, Paladins—”

Shiro’s pretty sure he starts gaping as the doors open. It appears the entire top floor is made up of just one apartment. When Vhalo opens the doors, it’s to a massive studio apartment stretching the entire floor plan of the building— a modestly-sized kitchen, a colossal sitting area, and one of the biggest beds that Shiro’s ever seen. It’s just a massive sea of blankets and pillows on the floor, situated like a nest.

It looks like it came straight out of a staged photograph— tasteful reds and golds draped across the windows and ceiling, large fanned screens creating separation between areas of the room, and everything centered around a massive fireplace.

There’s already a fire burning, leaving the room smelling of that gentle woodsmoke scent.

“This is…. I believe the human phrase is ‘honeymoon suite’?” Vhalo asks, turning to beam at the two of them.

Shiro feels his heart do a stupid little flip in his chest at the words, followed shortly by mortification. First Ryner and now Vhalo.

“I—”

“We wanted to make sure you were both as comfortable as possible,” Vhalo says, looking pleased. “We might not be official members of the Coalition and only know of humanity thanks to Voltron itself… But we have done research! We know how important mates are in your society.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, turning pink. He feels it blooming over his face, heating all the way up to his ears. He fumbles, uncertain how to tell Vhalo that he’s mistaken without insulting him.

Keith seems to have less qualms. He’s definitive when he says: “Shiro and I aren’t mates. We’re not together.”

There’s no reason Shiro’s heart should sink in his chest. He knew this already, after all. He was about to say the exact same thing.

Vhalo blinks, first his inner eyelid and then his outer eyelid— the perfect picture of alien shock. Keith looks back at him, neutral and unembarrassed.

It must help ease Vhalo’s reaction, at least, when Keith isn’t outwardly distressed. His shoulders sink and his brow crinkles. If his jaw weren’t quite so dragon-like, he’d probably be frowning.

“Forgive me,” Vhalo says smoothly. “I was under the impression… Well, naturally, we have all heard stories of your flight from Earth and—”

“T- these accommodations will do nicely, Ambassador,” Shiro interrupts. His voice sounds a little too high and strained to his own ears. “Keith and I will be very comfortable here, I’m sure.”

That works to perk Vhalo up. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

Fully recovered now, he leads Keith and Shiro through a short tour of the studio. He explains all the unique aspects of Trox living quarters— the self-warming stones, the chutes in the walls to shepherd fire, the decorative scale mosaic on the far wall— but Shiro’s hardly listening. He’s too busy sneaking glances at Keith.

But Keith nods along to what Vhalo says, looking perfectly natural and at ease.

Shiro envies how easy Keith makes it all seem. Shiro could take a lesson from him. It isn’t helpful for him to always feel so unfooted every time an alien mistakes them for mates. They aren’t mates and they never have been— and Shiro should be used to that.

Maybe, sometimes, it’s easy to forget when looking at Keith in the pilot’s seat on LP or watching him sleep with those little kitten snores.

Maybe, sometimes, Shiro indulges that passing thought— what if. _What if?_

But Shiro knows better. And he’s always known that Keith deserves better, the best— the entire universe. Shiro is just Shiro.

Vhalo finishes the tour and gestures to a chest at the foot of the massive blanket nest. “I’ve left traditional dress for the both of you,” Vhalo says. “It’s not required for our festival, but the fires can grow very hot— and these are designed for the firelife’s absorption.”

Shiro nods while Keith thanks him. Vhalo looks pleased, the spines cresting the top of his head perking up.

“Would you wish for me to accompany you for the festival?” he asks. “Or if you’d rather explore on your own, I can link my contact information into your datapad.”

Keith pulls out his PADD from his pocket and begins linking their information, his fingers sure and steady as he flicks through the necessary steps.

“We should be fine on our own,” Keith says. “Brave Paladins striking out on their own, right?”

“Of course,” Vhalo says, tucking away his PADD inside the voluminous columns of fabric covering his chest. “Please do let me know if I can be of assistance for your stay, Paladins.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” Shiro agrees.

They exchange a few more diplomatic pleasantries and then, finally, Vhalo leaves the two of them to their massive honeymoon studio. The door shuts behind him.

Shiro turns to find Keith already kneeling before the chest, pulling out the yards of silky fabric that make up the traditional festival dress. Keith plucks them out of the chest and lays them across the sea of blankets.

He must feel Shiro’s eyes on him because he glances back over towards him, eyebrows lifting. “Think you can grow a second pair of arms in the next five minutes?”

Shiro laughs as Keith gestures to the four sleeves on the garb. He shakes his head fondly and moves to stand beside Keith, examining the clothes. He fiddles with one of the massive sleeves.

“Do you think we’ll cause an intergalactic incident if we tie back the spare sleeves?” he asks, grinning.

He hopes it’ll spark a laugh from Keith and is delighted when it works. Keith shakes his head, fondly, huffing out. “They’ll just have to deal. Come on. I want to burn stuff.”

“Of course you do,” Shiro chuckles, scooping up the larger set of clothes. It billows and tumbles towards the floor in breezy swatches of silky fabric. “I should have guessed red would be a really popular color here… since, fire.”

“Fire lizard aliens,” Keith agrees, snatching up the second set of clothes. He bundles them up in his arms, flashing a grin at Shiro. “Good thing red’s a decent color on me.”

It makes Shiro laugh deeper, fond and helpless. He must look ridiculous as he watches Keith, his expression melting easily as he takes him in, standing there in the fading light of the day, the world around them flickering with firelight.

But then again, Keith is beautiful in all lights and all contexts.

Keith glances down, dimples flashing as he smiles. “What’s so funny?”

Shiro shakes his head, chuffing a softer laugh this time. “Red’s a _great_ color on you, Keith.”

“Geez,” Keith whispers, blushing.

He turns away from Shiro, still smiling, his ears red. He drapes the festival garb over the back of one of the chairs and starts to undress.

Shiro realizes that’s what he’s doing about halfway through watching Keith yank his shirt off. It’s one of Shiro’s shirts, too, exposing the long expanse of Keith’s back, those licks of scars and the knobs of his spine.

Shiro jerks his eyes away.

As far as Shiro can tell, the Trox style of clothes has two purposes: to be big and to be breezy. There are multiple thin layers stacked together, likely to trap heat but allow the passage of others’ heat, too. Vhalo did mention _firelife_ , so he imagines heat transfer is a popular aspect of this festival.

Regardless of the stacking layers and puddles of fabric, the outfit is comfortable once Shiro gets it on. He considers and then does decide to tie the spare sleeves into a bow behind his back.

That leaves two wide panels of fabric gathered at his hips that he can’t figure out what to do with. He frowns down at them.

“What do you think?” he asks Keith. “Are these suspenders or are they thigh decoration?”

He turns to get Keith’s opinion, arrested again by the view of Keith’s bare back as he squirms his way into a wide sea of fabric, fumbling to find the pant legs in all the robe’s fabric. Shiro’s eyes fall first on the angry edge of Keith’s shoulder scar, a left-over from his Trial with the Blades, and then sweep down his back, the smooth column of his spine and the thick lines of his muscles.

Keith finishes struggling and turns towards Shiro, frowning— likely at Shiro’s vaguely slack-jawed look. Shiro squirms a little, fidgeting with his own clothes— the Trox style seems to be billowy and breezy, but also _deep, deep vee_. He’s not used to exposing his entire chest from clavicle to navel. Everyone will see his belly button, which is an oddly vulnerable fashion choice.

“Does it look okay?” Shiro asks, and gestures with the flaps of fabric, unsure still if they’re meant to go over his shoulders or hang around his thighs.

“We could call Vhalo for instructions,” Keith offers. “Or…”

He looks away from Shiro, pink-cheeked, and retreats to one of the windows. He stares down at the people below for a long moment, examining their dress.

“… I think it’s just for the thighs,” Keith says.

“Let it loose it is, then,” Shiro says. He frowns down at his right arm, the billowy sleeve wavering and twisting around the spot where he should have a bicep and doesn’t. This is why he usually removes the sleeve in the first place, or tries to tuck it up near his shoulder.

Keith must notice his struggles, at least by the shape of his frown. He returns to Shiro’s side, helping him shrug out of the sleeve and remove his floating arm.

“Times like this, I almost miss the old one,” Shiro jokes.

“This one’s big,” Keith says in a low murmur, curling the loose sleeve to drape it over Shiro’s back and join the bow for the other two sleeves. Shiro closes his eyes, trying not to shiver from the feeling of Keith’s fingers at his back, plucking and retying the bow around the three sleeves.

Once Keith’s finished, Shiro glances back over Keith’s outfit— pleasantly disarrayed and bunched up at his hips like a peplum.

He eyes Keith. “Do you need help?”

Keith shakes his head, yanking up the spare fabric and shoving his arms through the sleeves. “I’ve got it.”

His face burns red and Shiro wonders at it. He forces the hopeful lick of longing inside his chest and smiles instead, tilting his head towards the front doors to their temporary quarters.

“Shall we, then, Captain?” he asks Keith.

Keith laughs, looking away with a small smile. “Of course.”

-

The first few vargas, Keith and Shiro just walk from square to square to enjoy the sights. Each square has its own bonfire, each one pooling heat and billowing smoke. The Trox people gather around each one, laughing and conversing. Some squares are full of music and dancing. Others have game booths full of extravagant and vibrant prizes. In others, artisan shops, food carts, or stages are set up for performances. There’s dancing, comedy, acting.

It’s a massive, full-city affair. All the windows of the buildings glimmer with fire and it seems everyone is out and about, celebrating.

It’s a massive, bright festival full of laughter, both lovers with entwined tails and children darting between booths.

Shiro’s nearly overwhelmed just watching it all, trying to drink in all the sights. He feels floaty and warm again, relieved to see so much joy in the universe.

He thinks Keith must feel the same way. He watches the dancers stream across the stage, watches children throw new logs onto the fire, mothers plucking food from their children’s spiny scales. He looks happy, his face as warm as the fires they watch together.

“It’s funny,” Keith says after they circle around one of the massive bonfires, pausing just beyond the circle of its light. Close enough to feel the heat without sweating. The festival garb serves its purpose: keeping them warm without overheating, the warm fire breeze wafting across Shiro’s exposed chest and navel.

“What is?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head. “Nothing. I was just thinking… Ha, my dad would have loved something like this.”

“Oh,” Shiro says and waits. A Trox child throws a log onto the fire, trilling out a delighted laugh as it sends sparks through the air in countless little fireflies.

Keith’s eyes are a nebula, reflecting all those solar flares as he gazes into the fire. It’s almost meditative, the way the flames pull his attention. Shiro’s, too, if he weren’t so arrested by Keith.

Keith hums. “I don’t mean it as a sad thing or a ‘woe is me’ thing. Like… we used to do campfires in the backyard all the time. He’d— you know. He’d agree that fire isn’t always a bad thing.”

Shiro reaches his hand up, cupping Keith’s shoulder, and Keith breathes out— leaning into the touch and closing his eyes. It tucks him up into Shiro’s side.

“He’d be proud of you,” Shiro says.

“For staring at a fire?” Keith asks, teasing.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Keith says. He smiles. “He’d help the Trox build better fires, though. He couldn’t stand inefficiency like this.”

As if to punctuate the statement, the bonfire’s inner sanctum collapses, the bonfire condensing down to a chorus of delighted shrieks.

“Maybe that’s the point?” Shiro asks. If this were a Coalition planet, they’d have plenty of notes to read up on— they’d know the complete background to the Trox people for fear of overstepping or causing an incident.

Then again, maybe there’s something nice about simply not knowing.

Regardless, Keith’s words make Shiro laugh and Keith joins in, warm and honeyed. He leans against Shiro’s side and, slowly, Shiro shifts his hand off Keith’s shoulder to curl his arm around him instead, tucking him in closer still.

They watch the fire together.

“Is it what you imagined it’d be?” Shiro asks.

Keith laughs. “Guess I didn’t picture quite so many people. But that’s stupid of me.”

Shiro squeezes him in closer. “Not stupid.”

“Anyway,” Keith says. “My dad’s not the reason why I wanted to come here. By the way.”

“I wasn’t thinking it was.”

“I don’t… You know. I like fire fine. I don’t secretly hate all fire just because of what happened to my dad.”

“I know that,” Shiro says.

Keith nods. “I just wanted to go somewhere with you. Somewhere we’ve never been.”

Shiro squeezes him tighter. Keith huffs a breath, steels himself, and then turns. He coils his arms around Shiro and hugs him properly. Shiro’s quick to return the gesture, curling around Keith easily.

Shiro tells himself not to pay attention to the way they press chest to chest— skin to skin considering the open vee of their tunics. He can feel the rise and fall of Keith’s chest, the swell of his breath. His hands press against the exposed line of Keith’s back, fingers tracing the open back-vee of the tunic.

The fire feels warm at their sides as they hold one another. Keith tucks his face up against Shiro’s neck, his breath warm at Shiro’s throat.

“Mom would like this, too,” Keith says.

Shiro rubs his back. “We can come back next year. Bring everyone— your mom, the Paladins.”

He feels Keith’s smile against his skin. “Allura and Coran would grow a second pair of arms just to fit in, I bet.”

Shiro laughs. “Hunk would try to cook something on the fire. Sweet wood-smoked salmon or something.”

Keith laughs. “It really does smell sweet, huh?”

“I was thinking like maple syrup,” Shiro says.

Keith takes in a deep breath. Shiro does, too, inhaling the smell of the fires. But mostly all he can smell is Keith’s hair, considering how close he’s pressed.

They stay like that, holding one another. Shiro hums. “So… Next year?”

Keith squeezes him. “Yeah. Sounds perfect, Shiro.”

-

“You think they go all night?” Keith asks around a yawn. They’re several vargas into the night, the fires still burning bright and the suns long gone.

That’s hardly slowed the Trox down. The party’s still vibrant and lively, the air full of choruses of laughter and shouting, lanterns floating along strings looped across the squares, flickering with their own firelight.

“The ambassador did say it’s a party,” Shiro says. “Why, are you sleepy?”

“Even if I was, as if I’d fall asleep with how loud everyone is,” Keith says with a laugh.

They’ve spent the last few vargas watching the fires, wandering from square to square. Shiro’s favorite so far has been the fire dances— a flurry of Trox performers dancing in a style similar to ballet across pallets of red-hot stones. Their scales are thick enough to protect their feet from burning.

If anything, the Trox people seem to thrive on that heat, growing livelier and livelier the longer they stay by the fires. The energy feels infectious; it’s cool beyond the circle of firelight but Shiro hardly feels cold even with his exposed chest.

As Shiro and Keith pass into a new square, following the path between alleyways lined with red and orange streamers, they’re met with the smell of food. Shiro can’t quite place what it reminds him of— something smoky, spicy, and warm— but it instantly makes Shiro’s stomach rumble.

“Hungry?” Keith asks, grinning.

“Maybe,” Shiro says.

He eyes the row of carts on the other end of the square, lined with twinkling lights. Vendors serve festival-goers with their multiple arms, calling out orders and collecting GAC in exchange. It’s a flurry of movement and steam, the air filled with the sweet spice of Trox cuisine.

Keith nudges him. “I’ll grab us somewhere to sit. You get us food.”

Shiro nods and nudges Keith back before straying from his side for the first time tonight. He approaches the vendors, uncertain what exactly Keith might be in the mood for but figuring a wide selection of snacks and drinks is the best route to go.

He swivels his head around to find Keith in the crowd, spotting him further from the fire. There are small nests around the fire with flat tables low to the ground. It seems they’re all occupied, however, leaving Keith leaning against one of the walls of the surrounding buildings. Hardly the fanciest place to sit, but Shiro doesn’t mind sitting side by side with Keith, watching the people wander by, their backs to bricks.

Shiro smiles, watching Keith. As Shiro waits in line, he observes the people around them— he thinks some of the Trox must recognize them, but it’s more cursory glancing than dedicated attention.

Considering they’ve only had the one ambassador and he was happy enough to leave them to their own devices, Shiro figures that T’vinb isn’t overly interested in the comings and goings of the Paladins of Voltron.

Shiro’s grateful for it. They’re not quite invisible, but they’re mostly unnoticed here. It’s a stark difference from the open gawking from Olkari, or the requests for autographs on Earth.

It’s the closest they’ve gotten to a completely peaceful planet— untouched by the Galra Empire, by the Coalition, by any fighting. It’s just T’vinb and its people enjoying life, giving thanks to fire for giving them life.

Shiro understands why Keith would have wanted to come here. He hopes it’s everything Keith hoped it’d be.

He finally makes it to the front of the line, basically handing over his GAC and instructing the vendor to give him the best he has to offer. The chef seems pleased with the invitation, his teeth flashing in a way that almost reminds Shiro of Hunk. If Hunk were a bipedal dragon alien with sharp teeth.

He’s given a dissatisfied tut when Shiro only has the two arms to hold the food the vendor tries to ply him with. He stacks the containers up in Shiro’s waiting arms and waves one hand dismissively to move Shiro aside so he can serve the next customer.

Laughing to himself, Shiro turns to return to Keith.

He freezes once he shoulders past the group of Trox waiting for food. Keith’s still in the spot Shiro left him, leaning against the wall on the other side of the square, all that fabric billowing around him. He’s leaning heavily against the wall, his legs kicked out a bit in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. He’s handsome in his casualness.

And there’s a man with him, a tall Trox who’s all teeth and glittering eyes. He’s leaning in rather close to Keith’s space, speaking with him.

Shiro’s no stranger to the universal sign of a man flirting, and it’s clear that’s what the Trox is doing, grinning down at Keith, his snout wide and eyes dark as he surveys Keith. Shiro _watches_ the Trox give Keith a blatant once-over, clearly liking what he’s seeing.

And who can blame him? Keith is amazing. He’s beautiful, sexy, whip-sharp and deadly smart. Shiro can’t blame someone for taking notice of and interest in Keith while he’s just standing there looking effortlessly cool.

Yes, Shiro knows this. But it doesn’t stop him from feeling like a bucket of ice water’s been dumped all over him anyway.

He thinks Keith’s flirting back. He’s not sure. He’s not sure if he’s ever actually seen Keith flirt before.

He’s seen Keith be friendly, of course. He’s seen him in all manner of ways— spitting mad, fiercely brilliant, laughing at a stupid joke, crying over the unfairness of the world. He’s seen him deep in the middle of the night, wakeful and stressed. He’s seen him smiling fondly at their friends as they sleep, thinking that nobody can see him doing so.

Shiro watches, holding their food, as Keith looks down, hair flipping past his ears to cover his face. There’s the flash of a smile, Shiro thinks, although he can’t place what kind.

Of course someone would flirt with Keith. He’s just standing there, sure, but it’s _Keith._ His pretty hair framing his handsome face, his robes open in that deep vee exposing his cute stomach and defined chest. There’s his eyes as dark and swirling as the night sky, his quirking smile that’s far too pretty—

Shiro knows he’s hopeless. He waffles, wanting to barge in there and interrupt, but not wanting to step on Keith’s toes if it’s an invited interaction. At most, they should be diplomatic while they’re guests on a new world. It wouldn’t be good— and supremely difficult to justify— if he were cold as ice with a random stranger.

Shiro stands there stupidly, feeling like a creep, watching the Trox man lean his two right arms against the wall, drifting further into Keith’s space. Keith tilts his head back to look up at him, lifting his eyebrows. He doesn’t uncross his arms as he speaks, saying something that makes the Trox laugh.

The Trox casts Keith in shadow, the fire’s light licking at his jaw, his hair an inky crown around him. He looks eclipsed.

Shiro takes a step forward and hesitates again, his heart pounding.

 _Idiot_ , he thinks. _Do something._

But Shiro isn’t sure what to do. He feels frozen to the spot, stuck between looping around the square to give Keith time or obnoxiously shoving himself in there. One of the Trox’s arms slides down the wall, creeping closer towards Keith. He’s speaking to Keith in a low voice, words that Shiro can’t hear from so far away.

Keith tucks a piece of his hair back behind his ear and glances away— and that’s when his eyes lock on Shiro’s.

Shiro doesn’t think he’s mistaken that Keith’s face lights up when he sees him. Shiro can’t help his answering smile.

“Shiro!” Keith calls out. He lifts his hand, waving, as if there could ever be a chance that Shiro _hasn’t_ seen Keith or wouldn’t always look for him in a crowd.

Still Shiro hesitates, unwilling to be the awkward witness to Keith flirting with someone who isn’t _him_. It’s an unfair thought, and one he doesn’t have a right to have. He swallows and feels lead-footed as he approaches, encroaching on that private moment.

And yet, the smaller, pettier part of him is grateful to see Keith so happy to see him— to completely ignore the other man as Shiro returns to his side.

He lets Keith grab some of the containers of food, plucking them from Shiro’s hands. He jerks his chin towards the Trox.

“This is Airi,” Keith says. “He was telling me about the similarities between Trox and Galra.”

“Oh,” Shiro says politely. He can tell how cold his voice is and he doesn’t know how to disguise it. Airi doesn’t frown but he does stare at Shiro. Since Shiro has no way to interpret the look, nor does he care to, he unwraps one of the snacks he bought and bites into it. It’s something like the Trox equivalent to an empanada. Shiro chews on it and says nothing more.

“We both thrive on body heat,” Airi says, supposedly speaking to Shiro but unwilling to take his eyes off Keith.

Shiro privately thinks that Airi’s laying it on a little thick. He watches Airi’s eyes sweep down Keith’s exposed chest, clearly fascinated with his belly button— the Trox don’t have them, it seems— with undisguised hunger in his eyes.

Keith’s belly button _is_ cute, of course.

Shiro bites down viciously into his not-empanada, chews, and swallows. He has to close his eyes so he doesn’t glare. He tries to focus on the taste of the not-empanada. Delicious.

“I see,” Shiro says, throat tight. He struggles to keep his tone neutral.

“And I was telling Airi about how we ended up here,” Keith continues, seemingly unconcerned with Airi’s proximity or Shiro’s attitude. He laughs softly to himself as he nudges his shoulder against Shiro’s. “And our escape from Earth.”

Shiro blinks his eyes open, glancing at Keith when he stays leaned against Shiro’s shoulder. 

Keith grins at Airi and says, “I kidnapped him.”

Airi tilts his head, the spikes at the crown of his head tipping down towards his snout. “Kidnapped?”

“I stole him away,” Keith says, sounding so proud of himself. His chest puffs up and he adds, “We ran away together.”

Shiro chews on his not-empanada, definitely glaring at Airi now. He tries to rein it in, but he’s sure it’s obvious. Thankfully Keith isn’t looking at him.

He should be kinder than this. More diplomatic. He has no right to feel all shriveled up and envious just because someone’s expressing interest in Keith. He isn’t a jealous freak. Keith deserves to make friends, to make connections— Keith deserves to be happy.

Shiro’s a creep.

He looks away, letting out a breath and chewing on his food. He feels his body go rigid in self-disgust, frustration coiling in his gut.

He finishes his food and then has nothing to do with his hands.

He thinks Airi says something. He’s not really listening.

Then he feels Keith turn a little. There’s a hand on his back, a barely-there touch but still skin-on-skin. When Shiro looks back at Keith, his expression is concerned.

“Shiro?” Keith asks.

“Mmm?”

The way Keith looks at him, it’s as if nothing else in the universe exists. Like nothing could ever make Keith look away.

Keith shifts closer. He’s pressed up against Shiro’s side, his hand sliding up Shiro’s back, kneading once into the back of his neck. A subtle touch. Easy to overlook.

Airi watches them curiously, grin gone.

“You okay?” Keith asks in a low voice. Not low enough that Airi won’t hear with him standing right there, but the tone pins Shiro to the spot.

He realizes that Keith must be mistaking his silence and rigidity for lingering muscle pain.

He blinks once as Keith lifts his hand, brushing Shiro’s hair away from his face. His fingertips sweep across his forehead with such tenderness that Shiro’s heart aches.

“I—” He swallows. “Yeah, Keith. I’m fine.”

Shiro meets his gaze like that, letting the moment hang between them.

Airi is the one to interrupt them. Beside them, he simply says: “Ah.”

Shiro’s the first to look away, frowning as Airi takes a step away from Keith, two pairs of arms folding behind his back.

“Forgive me,” Airi says just before he sweeps into a deep bow. “I had heard the rumors of your escape, of course— I didn’t realize you were truly mated.”

He seems embarrassed, as far as Shiro can interpret Trox expressions, and Shiro feels a quiver of mirrored embarrassment over his stupid attitude.

Shiro feels himself blush, regardless. He opens his mouth to correct Airi when Keith says gently: “It’s okay. Easy enough mistake to make.”

Shiro does not gape as Airi sweeps into another apologetic bow. “I’ll leave you, then.”

Keith’s fingertips brush across Shiro’s temple and fall away, resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you, Airi,” Keith says and then stops paying attention to Airi entirely.

Shiro watches Airi’s hasty retreat, his mind skidded to a halt. Keith sets down their food and then reaches for Shiro’s hand, fingers sliding along his forearm and then digging into the tendons at his wrist, his frown deep and brow furrowed in concern.

“Keith,” Shiro says, “I’m really fine.”

Keith squeezes his wrist, looking up at him with a concerned sound— something like a soft trill. “You’re sure? You’d tell me?”

“I’d tell you,” Shiro promises. “Just hungry, I guess.”

Keith nods, accepting it, and then tugs Shiro down so they’re sitting up against the wall. The world continues on around them, the fire crackling in the center of the square, festival-goers enjoying the festivities.

But Shiro feels like something’s tipped on its axis. He crosses his legs as he sits beside Keith, their many layers of gauzy fabric bunching around them. Keith tugs his knees up towards his chest, unwrapping his not-empanada.

Shiro doesn’t know if the silence that settles around them is awkward or comfortable. Shiro stares down at their food.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Shiro says faintly.

Keith shrugs, playing with the wrapper on the food, curling it down towards his knuckles. “You didn’t.”

Shiro feels like he’s floundering. He feels waylaid, directionless and unsure how to navigate this conversation.

“He seemed… nice?”

Keith frowns, shrugs again, and takes a bite out of the not-empanada. He makes a soft sound, his eyes lighting up. “Shit. That’s good.”

Keith shoves half of the not-empanada into his mouth.

“Oh. Yeah. I thought so,” Shiro says. He sits there, unsure what else to say.

He watches Keith carefully. Up close and alone together now, Shiro can see the small coil of tension in Keith’s shoulders, the way he’s sat himself down close to Shiro’s side. Close enough that they’re nearly touching.

“Was he bothering you?” Shiro asks, unsure what to make of the tension in Keith’s shoulders.

“Nah,” Keith says. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I know that,” Shiro says. He nudges Keith gently and smiles when Keith nudges back and stays pressed there like that, shoulder to shoulder. “So…” Shiro says, easing into the question. “What did you two talk about, then?”

Keith considers, looking up to watch the crowd as he chews his food. He fiddles with the wrapper on the food and then tucks his hair behind his ear, the gesture more a tic than necessity.

“He was being friendly,” Keith dismisses. “He wanted to spend the festival together. See the sights. I told him I was waiting for a friend, though, so he stuck around to talk.”

“About the similarities between Galra and Trox.”

Keith scoffs. “Body heat.”

“I didn’t realize body heat was a thing with the Galra,” Shiro admits.

Keith shakes his head. “Some of them. Some of the Galra are more lizard-y. I don’t really care one way or the other about body heat.”

Keith presses in closer to Shiro’s side at that. Shiro lifts his arm to make room for him and drops it around Keith. That seems to settle Keith, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. He smiles to himself and grabs another container of food. When he pops it open, it looks like red poutine.

Shiro watches Keith shove a fry into his mouth and lick his fingertip free of the red gravy.

“He was friendly, at least,” Keith says.

Shiro thinks Keith would drop it at that, let it disappear as quickly as Airi had back into the crowd. There’s no reason Shiro should be picking at this and letting it niggle at him.

He can’t stop thinking about the way Keith looked with his head ducked, smiling a bit, draped in Airi’s shadow.

Keith deserves to be happy. He deserves to be happy in whatever capacity that is.

Shiro can’t shake the image of Keith laughing, shoulders shaking, his grin infectious and delighted. Being loved and beloved the way he deserves, the way he wants, by someone that _he_ wants. Keith deserves the universe.

He squeezes his arm around Keith’s shoulders, steadying his breath. Keith makes a soft sound at his side, inching closer.

“Friendly,” Shiro says faintly.

“Yeah,” Keith says.

“Keith…” Shiro takes a deep breath, tipping his head down to give Keith an incredulous look. “He was flirting with you.”

Keith whips his head up to give Shiro a wide-eyed look, nearly recoiling out of Shiro’s hold entirely. “He—”

“He was flirting,” Shiro repeats and congratulates himself on how even-voiced he sounds. Quietly, he says, “And it looked like you were maybe flirting back?”

There’s a small quiver of anxiety squirming inside him, not over the idea of Keith flirting— but that he was and Shiro really _did_ interrupt things. He already knows Keith deserves better than him, and Shiro hardly wants that to be true in the little ways, too.

Keith turns red-faced, nearly matching his robes. “Wh— _Shiro._ ”

“What?” Shiro asks, pushing himself through the words. He can be a supportive friend. This is what a supportive friend does— teasing, goading, encouraging. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s…” Keith begins and trails off, looking mortified. He shoves his food into his mouth and chews, saying nothing. He stares moodily out at the firepit in the center of the square.

“I just didn’t want to interrupt,” Shiro says. “If you _were_ flirting back.”

“I wasn’t,” Keith grumbles around a mouthful of food. “Definitely wasn’t.”

“It’s okay if you were, or ever wanted to,” Shiro says, and cringes at how condescending he sounds.

The truth is, he’s never actually seen Keith flirt with anyone; he doesn’t want to make assumptions about what or who Keith likes, if it’s anyone at all. Back in the Garrison, Keith once shyly admitted to liking guys, too, but since then he’s never really mentioned _anything_ romantic with Shiro. Nothing that comes to mind, anyway.

Shiro doesn’t have a ton of experience with friendships. He’s thought it before and it’s the truth: Keith is his first true friend.

Before Keith, he didn’t have too many close friends— acquaintances, sure, and certainly people he was friendly with. He started dating Adam before they really knew each other, so he doesn’t even quite count, either.

Keith is the first _best friend_ he’s ever had, and Shiro knows what best friends are supposed to talk about.

He and Keith have always been different. They’ve never had a normal friendship. Shiro’s seen plenty of friends gossip about their love lives together— but he and Keith have never been like that.

Now, it feels important to be supportive. It’s a failure on Shiro’s part that he’s neglected this somehow. That this was something he was supposed to be doing all along.

Shiro feels out of his depth.

“I mean… what type of guy are you into, anyway?” Shiro asks casually.

Keith’s stomach heaves and he starts choking, ducking his head and slamming his fist against his chest. Shiro thumps him on the back, alarmed.

“Keith?”

“Sorry,” Keith wheezes once he’s able to breathe again, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand and looking vaguely faint. “Um.”

He looks uncomfortable once he straightens up again. Shiro realizes, with no small amount of dread, that it’s because of _Shiro._ Keith’s expression is closed-off, his eyes a little jittery as he looks between Shiro and the fire in the distance. He fiddles with his hair, shoving it out of his face and grunting when it just flicks back into his eyes again.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Shiro says, voice wooden.

And maybe he really doesn’t want to hear it, in the end— he’s not sure if he wants to hear what sort of man Keith’s attracted to, who it is he wants to date in the first place.

He’s never considered before what he’d do if Keith were to start dating someone. The very idea of it sends his heart twisting up tight in his chest.

“Um, short,” Keith says, eyes darting to Shiro’s and away again.

Shiro gives him an odd look and Keith closes his eyes and grimaces.

“Guys who are… um. Shorter than me. I like guys who are shorter than me.”

“Really?” Shiro asks, brow pinching.

“Yeah, definitely,” Keith mutters, crossing his arms. It’s distracting because of the way the billowy fabric falls, emphasizing his bared belly. Shiro tries very hard not to stare at it, dragging his eyes up to look at Keith.

Keith is red-faced, grinding his heel down on the red cobblestones and looking vaguely mortified.

Shiro frowns. “I guess I never thought about something like that before.”

There isn’t a discernible pattern in the people he’s liked in the past, really, in terms of how tall or short they were. Many of them had similar heights and builds to Shiro himself.

Keith is shorter than him, though. Willowy, but by no means lean and weak. Shiro likes how broad his shoulders are. He likes how _strong_ Keith is. Keith could throw him across this square with little effort and Shiro knows it. He’s infinitely aware of Keith’s strength.

Maybe that’s something Keith likes— being strong, being tall. Shiro thinks he’d like Keith even if Keith were taller than him.

“So, short guys,” Shiro says casually.

Keith nods. “Yep. Short guys. Just… yeah.”

He looks uncomfortable still, clenching his arms tight and eyes cast down towards the ground. His mouth is a worried, thin line.

Then, Keith heaves a deep sigh.

“I mean, no,” Keith admits. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it before… I, um, just panicked.”

“Oh.” Shiro frowns. “Why?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s weird to talk about this.”

Shiro feels his heart wilt a little. It’s true that he feels awkward about it, too, but he’s deeply aware that this should be something he can talk about. Someday, Keith will probably start dating someone. Someday, Keith will start flirting back with cute guys who talk with him during a festival. Shiro needs to get used to that; he needs to be able to be neutral when talking about future boyfriends with Keith. He can’t be a freak about it.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Shiro says cautiously. “But, Keith, I just… Whoever catches your eye someday— whoever you like— that guy’s lucky, you know?”

Keith glances at him, peeking up through his bangs. His face is still as red as his robes.

“Shiro,” he says, voice soft and a little weak.

Shiro presses onward. This much, he knows, is the truth: “You deserve to feel good. You deserve to be loved.” When he smiles, it feels truthful, because he’s known this about Keith forever— even if, ultimately, that happiness Keith finds is with someone else. Shiro will just have to deal. “You’re an amazing person. And anybody who gets to know you knows that.”

“Shiro,” Keith says again, voice quieter than before.

“You don’t have to seem so surprised that people would want to talk to you or flirt with you,” Shiro presses gently. “Keith, you’re such a—” He coughs. “You’re amazing. Anybody would want to get to know you.”

Keith’s expression pinches. He crumples up the waxy paper from the not-empanada and shoves it into the empty not-poutine container.

“Okay,” Keith says in a quiet voice. “Thanks, Shiro.” He pauses, clearly waffling, and then says, “You, too. Anybody would— yeah.”

Ice races down Shiro’s spine. He can’t imagine himself being with someone else anytime soon, not after everything he’s been through.

The thought is terrifying. Shiro’s been through so much. He can’t imagine unloading all of that on somebody else.

No one deserves to be saddled with someone as broken as him. He knows it isn’t charitable, he knows it isn’t _true,_ but it’s Shiro’s immediate thought. And he knows what Keith would say, if he heard Shiro say something like that about himself.

Instead, he settles for a weak smile. “I don’t think that’s anything I need to think about for right now.”

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, eyes big.

Shiro shrugs, fidgeting with the billowing sleeve of his robe. It’s his turn to study the ground, eyes tracing the lines of each cobblestone.

“Dating people isn’t really a priority for me right now. I’m… well. You know. I’ve never been great with relationships.”

Keith shifts closer again. His hand lifts and touches Shiro’s hand where it fiddles with his clothes. There must be something in Shiro’s tone that alarmed Keith because when Shiro looks up, Keith’s eyes are big, deep, and sympathetic.

Keith’s fingers twist into the fabric of Shiro’s sleeve, holding tight, as if trying to tether Shiro right here with him. As if there’s ever been any danger of Shiro leaving.

Shiro swallows thickly, suddenly feeling too stupid, too ridiculous, too unworthy.

“Anyone you fall in love with,” Keith says with deep seriousness, “is the lucky one.”

The words echo. Shiro knows he heard them. He forgets for a moment how to breathe, his expression undoubtedly splintering.

Tentatively, he lifts his hand to cover Keith’s.

“Shiro… You deserve to know how important and wonderful you are.” Keith’s voice cracks a little and he takes a moment, lips pressed together to collect himself. Then, voice wavering, Keith says, “ _You_ deserve anything you could ever want.”

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, unsure if he can believe the words but always wanting to believe in Keith’s ferocity and belief in him.

He doesn’t deserve Keith.

They fall into another silence. When Shiro glances up from their hands, Keith is studying him. Shiro stares into his eyes— and Keith stares back.

Time slows again as they look at one another, letting that moment suspend between them. There’s nothing else around them. Not the self-warming stones beneath them. Not the crackling fire beyond them. Not the chorus of happy shouts and Trox instruments alighting on the air. No smell of the sweet wood smoke.

Only Keith. There was only ever Keith and the fathomless depths of his eyes.

And then the moment breaks. Keith glances down, squeezes Shiro’s hand, and pulls back. He climbs to his feet and helps Shiro up, too.

He puffs up, inhaling sharply, and jerks his head around. “Anyway. Come on. Let’s focus on this festival thing. I’m winning you a prize.”

“Oh—”

But Keith tugs on Shiro’s sleeve and starts shepherding him towards a series of booths in the next square over. It’s similar to any carnival or festival that Shiro’s seen— with a wide collection of different prize games.

“You really don’t need to—” Shiro starts as Keith drags him towards the first stall.

Keith slams down some GAC and grabs at the brightly colored rings. Shiro knows this game well, although obviously there’s a variation on this planet. Instead of trying to get the rings around a pole, Keith’s aiming for a spiraling, swirling structure. It looks similar to a volcano with a spout of fire pouring out at the top, which Shiro supposes is appropriate for the festival’s purpose.

Keith throws the first ring far too aggressively and it bounces off, nearly hitting the poor festival worker in the face.

“Keith,” Shiro begins.

“I’m winning you something,” Keith says, stubborn and determined now. He throws the second one much more softly. It bounces off when the volcano swings away violently. Shiro hears Keith curse under his breath.

And, despite himself, Shiro feels a smile tug at his lips.

“Patience?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith answers.

They study the volcano in silence. Keith tosses the rings and keeps missing, putting down more GAC to keep going. It makes Shiro laugh a little, helpless against anything Keith does.

Keith’s so focused that he’s not really looking at Shiro, much less responding to Shiro’s laughter. He aims and tosses, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he focuses. It’s cute.

After a time, Shiro realizes he’s not even studying the game anymore— just watching Keith.

He studies Keith— that determined clench of his jaw, the fire in his eyes. His hair’s doing that familiar curl at the back of his neck that makes Shiro itch to touch. He imagines curling his fingers in Keith’s hair, cradling the back of his skull, and leaning in to press a good luck kiss to his jaw.

The longing floods through Shiro. He thought he was getting a handle on this endless longing for his best friend, but apparently not. Shiro wonders if it’ll always be this way. If he’s always going to be amazed by everything Keith does and is.

Keith glances up at him and catches Shiro staring. He looks startled before he frowns thoughtfully. His eyes look a little less angry now when he pauses in his relentless ring-tossing to study Shiro in turn.

“Kind,” Keith tells him.

“What?”

“I like guys who are kind,” Keith elaborates. He fidgets with the ring he’s holding, glancing down at it enough that his eyelashes splay in sooty little arcs across his cheeks. He’s so handsome and Shiro _aches._

“Good,” Shiro answers, and means it. Keith deserves someone kind. Keith deserves someone who will cherish him.

“And…” Keith bites his lip. “Someone who— gets me. I guess.”

Shiro nods. His smile is light when he murmurs, “A good list, Keith.”

Keith nods, turning back to the volcano and throwing the ring. It bounces off.

“What about you?” Keith asks neutrally.

Panic slices through Shiro when his brain helpfully summons up the true answer: You. _You._

Someone who’s so strong, so brave, so kind, so gentle. Someone who cares so deeply and so infinitely that it’s painful to consider anyone not realizing that. Someone who keeps going even when it’s hard, who never gives up, who’s always ready to help others. Someone with a dagger-sharp smile and eyes that look like the deepest depths of a nebula. Someone who’s never given up on him.

Keith.

Shiro coughs, picking up a ring and handing it to Keith once he finishes tossing the other. Keith’s eyes are glued purposefully to the volcano now, not daring to look away.

“Um… short?” Shiro says. He means it as a joke, but his laugh comes out stilted and he thinks Keith might flinch. Shiro sighs. “I guess this is another thing I haven’t really thought about too deeply.”

More like, panicking, he doesn’t know how to put this to words and not make it so obviously _Keith_ he’s describing.

Swallowing, Shiro offers, “Guys who are… kind.” Keith snorts, softly, and Shiro laughs. “Sorry, I guess I’m just copying you.” He pauses, really thinking about it. “Someone who knows what he wants, I guess.”

“Ambitious, you mean?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Just… he knows what he wants or who he is or what he needs to do to get there. It doesn’t eclipse all else, but it’s— something that can guide him. He knows what he values. He’s a good person.” Shiro studies Keith’s profile as he keeps tossing those rings, how handsome and devastating he looks, that scar cutting across his cheek. “He’s brave. He’s compassionate. He doesn’t… give up.”

He holds his breath, hoping that isn’t too much. It feels too obvious. It feels like too much.

But Keith’s expression softens, and he nods, a ring sailing through the air and finally landing on the volcano. “Yeah,” Keith says. “You deserve that, Shiro.”

Something inside Shiro aches at the easy way Keith accepts the words, how easily Keith can envision Shiro with someone else. Because, of course, Keith only ever views him as a friend. As a brother.

His devotion, while seemingly endless, will only ever be in this capacity.

And Shiro’s satisfied with Keith’s friendship. He might think about what it’d be like to have more, and it might hurt sometimes, might ache deep in his chest. But he wouldn’t trade out his friendship with Keith for anything.

He’s terrified of anything that could potentially ruin it— if speaking words aloud he shouldn’t speak wouldn’t just change everything, fundamentally, forever.

Three rings later, Keith grabs a stuffed animal from the choices the booth-keeper gives him and then holds it out to Shiro.

As far as Shiro can tell, it’s some sort of cartoonish version of a local animal on the planet. It looks somewhere between a wolf and giraffe. Vaguely terrifying, but also vaguely cute.

He hugs it to his chest and smiles at Keith. “Thank you.”

Keith nods, satisfied. He hooks his arm through Shiro’s and tugs him deeper into the festival.

-

The festival continues long into the night, but space-travel is exhausting. It’s not long before Shiro and Keith must retreat to the massive suite they’ve been gifted for the duration of their stay.

Shiro isn’t sure what time it is on the planet, but it feels like that strange, nebulous place between night and morning— a time when he’s normally only awake for nightmares. He feels bone-tired and fears his muscles will make him pay for tonight dearly.

Keith drops down into the window seat, staring down at the square below them. Shiro rubs at his wrist absently as he watches Keith across the room, the haloing glow from the window framing him.

Someday, Shiro thinks, he won’t always find Keith so devastatingly beautiful.

No. He knows that’s a lie. He knows that Keith’s always going to be the most beautiful thing in the universe.

Their silence stretches on endlessly. It isn’t awkward or stilted, but Shiro can’t help but feel like there’s been something left unsaid. He replays the evening, all their conversations, hyper-focusing on their conversation at the wall.

He tries to distract himself, writing out a letter to Allura on his PADD. He keeps the giraffe-wolf in his lap, unsure where else to put it, and describes the fire festival to Allura— and the suggestion that they all come here again next year. He thinks Allura would like that.

Keith plays with a longer piece of his hair, twisting and untwisting it around his finger.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Keith finally asks, after the silence has stretched so long that Shiro fears he’ll never be able to break it again.

“What?”

“We keep getting mistaken for a couple,” Keith says in a low murmur, eyes looking out the window.

Shiro gives a strangled laugh. He sounds near giddy, or like he’s hyperventilating. He immediately shuts up and tries to school his breathing into something resembling human.

He coughs. “Yeah. I guess that does keep happening.”

Keith fiddles with his robe, his fingertips tracing over his knee.

“I guess nobody’s heard of friends before,” Keith jokes absently, turning his face away. Shiro thinks he catches a hint of a smile on Keith’s face in the reflection of the window’s glass.

_Friends. Brothers._

“Guess not,” Shiro says. “It’s not so bad, though, is it?” He asks the question before he can drag it back in again. He swallows. “Being mistaken for a couple, I mean.”

He holds his breath. But Keith only chuckles and says, “No. It’s not so bad.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. “I mean… I guess you already pointed out that it’d be easy to mistake everything for— romantic.” Shiro aims for casual but lands somewhere in strangled. “We’re friends. We’re close. We understand each other… It makes sense that we’d get along. I guess it’s easy enough to mistake that for something romantic.”

It’d hardly be the first time, Shiro thinks, remembering Ryner’s reaction— and Keith’s response afterwards. Suddenly, it feels like a conversation left unexamined, incomplete.

“Mm,” Keith hums.

Shiro licks his lips, glancing down at his PADD, the cursor for the email blinking up at him mockingly. He fiddles and then powers it down, setting it aside.

It bathes him back into the darkness of the room. They hadn’t turned on many lights when returning to the room, content to let the massive fire pits for the festival illuminate their windows, and the smaller fire in their room ember and smolder.

Outside, they can hear the merriment and festivities wafting up through the air. Shiro doubts it’s going to die down anytime soon.

“There’s no one else I’d rather explore the universe with,” Keith says. “You know that.” He takes a deep breath. “But…”

“Yeah?”

“You really don’t think it’s weird when people call us a couple?” Keith asks.

Shiro isn’t sure how to place his tone, whether Keith _does_ think it’s weird or if he thinks Shiro should believe it so. Shiro’s too tired to examine anything too deeply.

He stands from his seat, setting down the stuffed animal gently, adjusting it so it looks like it’s lounging against the pillow in the armchair. It’s still a vaguely weird-cute, but Shiro finds it charming.

Once he’s in Keith’s space, he lets his hand fall to his shoulder. He squeezes it once and waits until Keith tips his head back to smile up at him.

“I don’t mind,” Shiro says. “I mean, we both know that’s not what we are.”

Keith’s smile is a faint, flickering thing. “Yeah.”

“And, Keith,” Shiro says. He squeezes Keith’s shoulder again.

The fires burning down below lick little flickers of light across Keith’s cheek. His eyes are a night sky as he stares up at Shiro.

As always, he’s so beautiful it nearly steals Shiro’s breath.

“Yeah?” Keith prompts, voice croaky.

Shiro licks his lips and squeezes Keith’s shoulder. “Me too. Who better to explore that universe with than with you?”

Keith chuckles, low and throaty, and he lifts his hand. He touches Shiro’s wrist, squeezing once.

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith murmurs. He glances down. “I’m… glad we’re friends.”

And it’s as simple as that. Shiro knows it’s always been as simple as that.

They never really talked about everything that’s happened to them. Not after their fight, not after Shiro’s return to a new body, not after their journey back to Earth, not after the battle for Earth, not after the battle for the universe. There was always too much to do, too little time. Shiro knows that there’s a whole slew of things they could and should talk about between them, but sometimes it feels like too much to bridge that gap.

At the same time, Shiro knows that Keith understands him. In many ways, they’re beyond words now— they get each other. And that’s more than Shiro could ever hope for.

His thumb skates over Keith’s collarbone when he gives one last squeeze to his shoulder and then withdraws. But Keith tucks his legs under him, making room in the bay window so Shiro can sit down and stare down at the square with him.

They do so, sitting together and gazing down at the massive fire pit, still burning bright and flaring.

“I think that’s Airi down there,” Keith finally says, nodding towards a distant figure.

Shiro squints. He didn’t get a good look at Airi, not enough to pick him out of a crowd probably, but the longer he looks, the more certain he is that Keith’s correct. Airi’s down near the fire, absorbing its warmth, and draped over another Trox.

“Well,” Shiro says faintly. “Glad he didn’t take the rejection too hard.”

“And getting that body heat,” Keith snorts.

Shiro thinks back to Keith’s discomfort, how he hadn’t corrected Airi about Shiro being his mate.

Teasing, Keith says, “Maybe I should be insulted that I could be forgotten so easily.”

Shiro knows it’s a joke, but still he can’t help his earnest answer: “Anyone who would want to is an idiot, anyway.”

Keith’s mouth hints a smile, his eyes reflecting the fire down below when he turns to give Shiro an indulgent look. “Plenty of people forget about me or have forgotten me. That’s life, Shiro.”

Shiro shakes his head, snapping his hand out to grab Keith’s. He doesn’t even have to think about it— just does it. He squeezes Keith’s hand hard, hard enough that it’s near bruising.

“Anyone,” Shiro says seriously, staring into Keith’s eyes, “who could forget about you isn’t worth being remembered in turn. The people who matter know you and they love you.”

Keith takes a small breath, almost a hiccup, and his eyes seem a little too glassy for a moment before he winks it away. He glances down at where Shiro holds his hand, steadying himself, and then back up again to look at Shiro.

Then, gently, he squeezes Shiro’s hand. “You too.” Then, quieter, he asks, “Do you want to go to bed?”

Shiro nods, standing and tugging Keith towards the massive nest of blankets waiting for them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slam dunks this chapter on a Monday night cause yolo* 
> 
> Enjoy :D

The beds on T’vinb are massive in comparison to LP’s standard-issue bed. As soon as Keith and Shiro slip into it, they feel too far apart. He can’t feel Keith at all.

T’vinb is warm, their room even warmer with the stocked fire and the fluffy blankets. The fires burn, the merriment and revelry outside continuing well into the night.

But Shiro feels cold. He rolls from his back onto his side, trying to adjust, trying to get comfortable. Everything feels empty.

When he listens, he can’t tell if Keith’s asleep or not. His breathing sounds even but he’s holding himself still. It occurs to Shiro that for all his restless nights, he’s never entirely sure when Keith begins to wake, when he moves from sleeping to aware. Must be a consequence of space-spy training, he thinks. Or maybe that’s just how Keith’s always been.

Shiro’s debating the merits of getting out of the bed and trying to exhaust himself with his usual morning routine— push-ups and then sit-ups— when Keith lets out a deep breath and rolls towards the center of the bed.

“Keith—?” Shiro asks in a hush, the question cutting off mid-breath when Keith’s arm drapes across Shiro’s middle.

He is sleeping, Shiro realizes, now that he’s face to face with Keith. His eyelashes fan across his cheeks, sleep-soft and relaxed. His lips are slightly parted, breathing in deep— soft snores with that same licking almost-purring sound.

Shiro feels himself relax, looking at Keith like this. With him sleeping, Shiro is uninhibited— he studies Keith’s sleeping face and finds comfort in it. He feels his shoulders loosen from the tension, feels his heartbeat slow.

Shiro shouldn’t be surprised that, in the end, Keith’s very presence is enough to soothe him.

Keith’s arm over his waist is a brand, heavy and comforting. Even though Shiro feels too warm beneath all these blankets, some sweat at his temple, it isn’t enough for him to want to escape Keith’s touch. Maybe it’s selfish to want him close like this.

Shiro’s not sure if he sleeps. He feels like he’s in the waking space— aware that he isn’t sleeping, but unaware of the way time slips away. He blinks and the light in the room feels different. He blinks and Keith is closer to him. He blinks and his arm is around Keith, too.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe. When he opens them again, both of Keith’s arms are around him, his nose tucked up against Shiro’s chest. Shiro sucks in a breath when Keith lets out a little trill and nuzzles in close.

“Keith?” Shiro whispers, not daring to believe that Keith is actually awake.

Keith’s hands paw at Shiro’s back, kneading. Keith makes a little grumbling sound and shoves closer, slipping down Shiro’s chest and towards his ribs, trying to shove his face between Shiro’s body and the mattress.

It’s ticklish. Shiro squirms away, nearly elbowing Keith in the head. “Keith—”

Keith makes a sleepy, grumbly noise and then yanks the blankets off Shiro, coiling them around himself in a massive pile. He kicks his feet out, disruptive and shoving the sheets around.

He’s burrowing. This must be what burrowing is, Shiro thinks.

Shiro tries to shift away but Keith makes a whimpering sound, clawed hand snapping out to grab Shiro by the front of his sleeping shirt and tugging. He garbles out something low and throaty, not quite language, and starts kicking at the mattress.

“Okay,” Shiro whispers, hand hovering above Keith’s wriggling form.

He has no idea what to do. Keith warned that he might burrow sometimes, but also didn’t actually describe to Shiro what that looked like— or what Shiro should do in this situation.

It’s strangely endearing to watch the ridiculousness of Keith’s movements— he squirms across the bed, bundling himself up further in the blankets. He keeps making grumbly sounds, like it isn’t enough, like he needs more.

Keith trills softly in his sleep, finally satisfied with the drape and twist of the blankets around him.

He scoots across the bed, creeping closer and closer towards Shiro. He wriggles, trying to shove his face beneath Shiro again. It’s still ticklish, although Shiro resists the urge to jerk away.

This is hardly as peaceful as he imagined burrowing, when Keith called it that. Keith kicks his feet out again, like he’s trying to swim on the bed itself. He grumbles as he shoves his face into Shiro’s armpit.

“Wh—” Shiro barks, laughter punching out of him before he can stop it.

But even as he tries to squirm away, Keith wriggles after him. It’s relentless— he shoves down against Shiro’s chest, his side, into his armpit again. He even goes for Shiro’s stomach and lower but Shiro only just manages to jostle himself out of the way before Keith’s face ends up against his dick.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers. He touches where he thinks Keith’s shoulder is. “Keith, wake up—”

He feels bad for doing so— he knows how precious sleep is for them both— but he can’t imagine Keith would be thrilled to wake up with his nose in Shiro’s groin.

Keith shoves forward again, going for armpit— but the wrong arm. He bangs his forehead hard against Shiro’s shoulder port, nose going right into the dim blue light of his electromagnet.

“Buh,” Keith mumbles. That’s enough to pull him from his sleep.

He grumbles, stilling in his relentless pursuit to get under Shiro, and blinks his eyes open. He looks blearily into Shiro’s shoulder port, and then looks up at Shiro. He makes that same little trill as before, as if unable to hold it back, and blinks lazily.

Then his awareness of his surroundings seems to settle. His eyes widen and he jerks upright— nearly clocking Shiro in the chin.

“Shit—”

“I, uh,” Shiro says, holding up his hand away from Keith. “I think you were burrowing.”

Keith tries to get his hands free from the coiled bundle of blankets around him, a tangled mess of sheets and quilts.

The entire image is absurd— Keith all twisted up like this, wriggling around on the bed, kicking at everything, shoving his nose against Shiro’s body.

Shiro starts laughing. He can’t stop it.

Keith looks utterly betrayed, but his expression splits into a helpless smile soon after, Shiro’s laughter too infectious to resist. He laughs, slightly embarrassed, his cheeks visibly pink even in the dark light of their room.

“You definitely should have explained burrowing better,” Shiro says around his laughter.

Keith gets a hand free and shoves at Shiro’s shoulder, playful and without heat. “You’d have definitely insisted I sleep on the floor if you’d known.”

Shiro just laughs louder. It feels good, somehow dispelling the awkwardness he felt from the evening. Keith struggles in vain to look disapproving, his mouth fighting an annoyed smile.

“Oh my god!” Keith finally cries out. “Shut up!”

Shiro exaggerates his laugh even louder, booming and obnoxious, and it only serves to make him laugh louder for real. Keith sputters, blushing, and shoves a pillow into Shiro’s face to muffle him. It doesn’t work, though, Shiro wriggling out from beneath it and trying to yank back a blanket.

“Sleep on the floor and I’ll take all the blankets,” Shiro says.

“Hell no!”

It’s a war after that. They both grapple for the blankets, Shiro trying to yank them free from Keith while Keith tries to burrow further, twisting and rolling on the bed to keep them all wrapped up around them.

It’s ridiculous, fueled on by the release of nerves and sleepiness, Shiro thinks, but it’s perfect. They roll on the bed, Keith twisting away from Shiro’s attempts to pin him. It’s something like their sparring sessions together, but much more absurd: squirmy and sleepy and on the limited space the mattress affords them.

“Can’t believe you’re fighting with an unarmed man,” Shiro says dramatically as Keith manages to pin him down, his sure grip clutching Shiro’s one wrist and pushing his arm up above his head.

Keith’s eyes narrow. “Don’t—”

“I have only one arm,” Shiro sighs dramatically. Or, at least, he tries to. He cuts off halfway through a laugh to wake up his Altean hand long enough to wave from the table in the corner.

Keith groans. He shoves Shiro down harder and with his free hand grabs at another pillow to shove it over his face.

“I can’t believe you made that joke!”

It renews their dumb wrestling match. The blankets and pillows get forgotten in the shuffle, kicked or thrown off the bed until it’s just the two of them and one quilt they keep yanking from one another. Shiro manages to get Keith pinned on his stomach, but Keith does have the free arm to work with— and manages to roll them so he’s just sitting on Shiro’s stomach. Not straddling, just sitting like he’s side-saddle, easily thrown off.

And he is easily thrown off when Shiro grabs him by the back of his shirt and tosses him. Keith rolls with a startled laugh, splaying out on the bare mattress with his arms outstretched. The laugh dissolves into a cackle soon after that.

“I’m taking back that toy I won you,” Keith declares.

“No!” Shiro says, overly dramatic as he snatches up the strange stuffed animal Keith won him at one of the booths tonight. “You can’t take Dumpy away from me.”

That makes Keith freeze, a laugh hiccupping out of him. “You did not name it Dumpy.”

“What’s wrong with that name?” Shiro asks, laughing and grinning, sure he must look ridiculous, hair all disheveled and face flushed.

“Name it something normal,” Keith protests. “Like Kevin.”

“Kevin?” Shiro’s sides ache for how much he’s been laughing, but somehow the image of his strange stuffed animal being named _Kevin_ takes the cake. He can’t stop laughing, ducking his head to press it down into the mattress in an effort to muffle it.

And then Keith pouts. He outright pouts. “What’s wrong with Kevin?”

Shiro shakes his head, unable to speak. He might be wheezing. Keith shoves at him again, more playfully this time. His hands cup Shiro’s shoulders, pressing him down into the mattress. Keith rolls his eyes, flushed and smiling.

Then he flops down beside Shiro, lying on his side. Shiro giggles one last time and then rolls onto his side to face Keith in turn.

“We lost the blankets,” Shiro says.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “It’s fine. I was getting too hot anyway.”

“It’s really warm in here,” Shiro agrees, and then they go quiet— just looking at each other.

They lie like that, silence descending upon them. Unlike before, though, this feels comfortable— not like something has been left waiting, or unsaid, but more comfortable. Something like expectation, like something _will_ be said.

Keith bites his lip. Shiro can’t help but notice it. He takes a deep breath.

“Sorry I burrowed,” Keith says finally.

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s fine. I only woke you up because I didn’t think you’d like your nose in my armpit by the morning.”

Keith sputters, and buries his face down against the mattress. His shoulders shake a little with swallowed laughter.

“Maybe not, no.”

“So…” Shiro says, pausing. “Galra Thing?”

“Galra Thing,” Keith agrees. He sighs. “It doesn’t happen all the time, usually. Just… just. Um. You know.”

He shrugs. Shiro has no idea what he means by _you know_ , doesn’t know what it is that could prompt a Galra to burrow, to crave that hidden space. Shiro shrugs, too, helplessly.

It must show on his face. Keith licks his lips, thoughtful, and Shiro can’t help but stare at the drag of his tongue across his bottom lip.

“It’s, mmm…” Keith hums, considering. He wriggles a bit on the bed and then rolls away long enough to pluck one of the lighter blankets off the floor and drape it over the two of them. He settles back into the space, facing Shiro.

Shiro waits, patient, feeling his eyelids growing heavy.

Keith watches him, eyes glowing in the dark as always, that pretty purple that Shiro can never look away from. Exhaustion rolls through him then, although he doesn’t want to fall asleep, not yet— he wants to look at Keith forever, be centered by him.

Keith reaches out to adjust the blanket for Shiro, making sure it cups around Shiro’s shoulder, covering him completely. It feels so much like being tucked into bed. Something comforting and peaceful, secure and sweet.

Shiro hums when Keith goes quiet for too long.

Keith smiles. “Galra burrow when they want… um. To be closer.”

“Cuddling?” Shiro asks, thinking of the way Keith kept shoving himself beneath Shiro. “Or like… a weighted blanket? Only another person?”

Keith laughs, startled, and blushes. “Kind of.”

“So what you’re saying is that there _is_ a body heat thing for Galra after all.”

“Fuck,” Keith breathes and laughs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Is that bad?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head. “You know me. I’m… I’m still getting used to— relying on other people. I mean, there’s you. You’re you. But with everybody else? I’m still not… used to it.”

Shiro nods. He knows that much. It breaks his heart to think that Keith’s still unused to others caring about him. For others to want him near. If burrowing is about needing to be closer, to not feel so empty or alone, Shiro can’t help but think of all the times in Keith’s life he’d woken in a bed all alone, burrowed up but lonely.

His expression must betray the thoughts. Keith gives him a somewhat fond, but exasperated look.

“I’m okay now, Shiro.”

“You are,” Shiro says, agreeing, and lifts his one hand to take one of Keith’s, squeezing it once. “You’re okay, Keith.”

The light outside the windows is changing— less flickering firelight and more the staining, burning red of a sunrise. It will be daytime soon. The next day of the Fire Festival will begin. The fires will be stocked up again and they’ll wander from square to square, getting food.

Keith glances over his shoulder towards that light, smiling. He looks pretty bathed in the glow of almost-morning.

He turns back towards Shiro and asks, “Want to go out early so we can burn things?”

“Yes,” Shiro says, laughing. “Let’s go, Keith.”

-

They dress for the day, donning the open-vested clothes yet again. Keith helps Shiro tie back his extra sleeves and together they set out into the morning light. They grab breakfast first, eating near the fire.

They watch the Trox people emerge from their homes, stoking the fire. Shiro watches them carve onto the ceremonial planks of wood, then drape them against the towering tee of the fire. He watches them watch the flames, their smiles serpentine and sweet as the fire consumes whatever they created.

“Why do you think they do that?” Shiro asks Keith, nodding towards a Trox woman carving a series of symbols onto a piece of wood she’ll ultimately throw into the fire. She’s spent the last twenty doboshes carving, and the fire will eat it up in less time.

“Airi was telling me yesterday,” Keith says, pausing to glance at Shiro and then away. “Depends on what you want to do. You can put wishes, fears, aspirations… It’s about the release. Once you put it into the fire, it’s not restricted just to thought. It’s part of the universe itself.”

“Matter doesn’t disappear, just changes form,” Shiro says. “Makes sense. It’s poetic.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Keith says. “If it’s a wish, it goes into the universe and can come true— you’ll be given the steps to achieve it. If it’s a fear, you can release it and it’ll dissipate. It’s about not carrying any of it inside you, but letting it be again.”

“I like that,” Shiro says in a low murmur, smiling.

Keith eyes him, then collects up their remaining plates and napkins from their breakfast. He beckons Shiro to keep sitting and leaves, depositing their trash and then walking with purpose towards the collection of wooden planks.

He grabs two and returns, handing one to Shiro and sitting down beside him with his own.

Shiro smiles at Keith, watching him draw his blade and begin carving. He angles the wood so Shiro can’t read what he carves, and Shiro gives him that privacy— watching Keith’s face twist in concentration rather than what his hands are doing. He’s purposeful and meticulous, as he is in all things.

Once he’s finished, he sets the plank aside, face-down, and turns to Shiro. He tilts his head. “What are you going to write?”

Shiro shrugs, fingertips brushing across the blank slate. It somehow feels too constricting, to imagine carving something, to put all his wishes and fears and thoughts down onto one surface. To make it real and then to release it.

Keith holds out his blade. “Here.”

“That’s yours,” Shiro says, smiling.

Keith rolls his eyes, gesturing again until Shiro takes the blade from his grasp, holding it. It’s a small blade but it feels heavy against his palm. Understandable, given Luxite’s elemental composition, Shiro thinks absently. And, somehow, poetic: of course the Blade of Marmora would be heavy.

Keith stares at him pointedly until Shiro angles his plank. Then, just as Shiro had for him, Keith looks away to give him privacy as he carves.

At first, Shiro just carves shapes, unsure what he wants to put down. They’re almost a night sky, except that Shiro’s no woodcarver— the movements are jerky and there’s no flow to the lines he carves in. Everything is sharp angles.

Shiro sighs, really thinking, and carves. The words are clunky and sharpened angles, the knife unfamiliar in Shiro’s hands. But it’s going to burn away, going to be released, so Shiro figures it doesn’t have to be pretty.

_I want to be happy._

Too vague, maybe. But it encompasses it all— his desire to find his place, to be free, to see the stars, to be by Keith’s side, to protect their friends. Happiness. He just wants to be happy.

How strange that even a year ago, he wouldn’t have been able to say that much— how, during this entire war, he’d have told himself it was selfish to want happiness. Even before Kerberos, it felt selfish: take what you want while you still can.

_I want to be happy._

“Ready?” Keith asks once Shiro’s finished, handing the knife back to him. Keith sheaths it at his back and rises to his feet when Shiro nods.

He holds his hand out to Shiro and helps haul him to his feet effortlessly. His touch lingers, a second too long, before he lets go and jerks his head towards the fire.

They walk together, watching the fire lick up towards the sky.

Then, gently, Keith drapes his plank against the fire. It ignites instantly, oiled and ready for the ritual of it all— the flames twist around it, consuming whatever it is that Keith wrote.

Shiro hesitates, takes a deep breath, then sets his plank down beside Keith’s. It, too, ignites instantly, and together the planks burn— the flames dancing between them until there’s nothing left.

Shiro isn’t sure how long they stand there, watching the flames burn. He feels Keith standing beside him, just as warm as the fire itself.

He waits until their planks are gone completely, just ash at the base of the bonfire, and then he turns to look up at Shiro.

“Feel lighter?” he asks Shiro.

Shiro smiles down at Keith, finding his hand and squeezing it once before letting go.

“Yeah, Keith.”

-

They spend the rest of the movement on T’vinb, enjoying the Fire Festival until its conclusion. There’s something melancholy about watching the flames finally burn themselves out. The Trox don’t use water or sand to extinguish the flames. Instead, they let them dissipate naturally.

And once the flames are finally gone, once the fires burn down low, once the night is truly and fully darkened night— Shiro and Keith take their leave.

“So,” Shiro asks once they break orbit, plotting their course away from T’vinb and towards Anterrilyn and Shiro’s green lava pools. “Fire Festival worth it?”

Keith laughs, shaking his head. “It was fun. But you know that wasn’t the point for me being out here.”

Warmth and affection flush through Shiro. He can’t help his responding ridiculous grin, one that Keith mirrors, his cheeks pink. Shiro grins at Keith, ridiculous and sweet.

“But, yeah,” Keith says, smiling down at the controls as he coaxes LP forward, the vacuum of space opening up before them. “I liked it. It was… it was really nice. Relaxing. Fun to just— be and not worry about representing Voltron or Earth or whatever. Just us.”

“Just us,” Shiro agrees.

Keith tilts his head, smiling at him, his hair falling into his eyes. He shoves it back again.

“So what’s our trajectory to Anterrilyn?” Shiro asks.

“About two movements,” Keith says. “And that’s not counting anywhere we decide to stop between here and there.”

Shiro nods, lounging back in the copilot’s seat. He sighs, slumping, and does the ultimate Keith move: he kicks his feet up onto the controls.

Keith, sitting all twisted up in his own seat, bare-footed and still wearing the Trox-style clothes, exposing his cute belly, just laughs.

Shiro wriggles his toes against the control pad, eyes darting to the compass to make sure it’s still upright in its position. The needle doesn’t spin, as usual, but Shiro must have poetry on the brain thanks to the Trox festival: if the needle could point towards True North, it’d be pointing at Keith.

Really, Shiro’s always known that.

Funny to think that, once upon a time, Shiro was just Keith’s mentor and friend— meant to point Keith in the right direction, give him a chance at the Garrison. Help guide Keith to be the best version of himself, to do the best and be the best he can be. Even for Voltron, too, guiding and helping Keith prepare for the inevitable when he would be leader.

Keith hardly needs his guidance now. Keith’s his own man, strong and a leader in his own right. Kind and generous. Strong as steel and a quick-thinker, yet unbearably sweet. Keith is the most amazing person Shiro’s ever known, and he’s just grateful that now Shiro can feel guided home, following Keith’s shadow.

Or maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe it’s not about who’s following the other. Maybe it’s about the fact that they’re walking forward together. Side by side.

“We need to find a space laundromat soon,” Keith says, interrupting Shiro’s thoughts.

Shiro turns his head to regard Keith with a nod. They hadn’t thought to buy more clothes while on T’vinb, and truthfully they don’t have the space to keep stocking up on clothes. They still have what they ran away from Earth with, plus what they purchased on Olkarion, and Keith’s still wearing the Trox-style clothes.

Their supplies in the clothing department are likely getting pretty low, truthfully.

Keith snorts. “Isn’t it weird that we leave Earth and travel through space but we still find this mundane shit? Space laundromat. Space mall. Space gas station. Just because you put space in front of it doesn’t make it cool.”

Shiro laughs. He watches Keith send the ship galloping, weaving and rising through space debris. Without wind resistance, it feels smooth as silk— barely noticeable and effortless. Keith always was an amazing pilot.

“Guess that is weird.”

“But, sure, let’s find a damn space laundromat,” Keith mutters and then laughs. It’s a bright sound, sweet and gentle.

They find a space laundromat in the next system. As they refuel the ship at the space gas station, they cross the embankment and lug their clothes into the laundromat. It’s a small little alcove with the washers, enough like the Earth equivalent to feel strangely like home.

“Space laundromat,” Shiro teases and Keith snorts as he sets down their bundle of laundry.

Each machine is covered in an alien script. They spend too many minutes puzzling over it. There aren’t any other patrons in the laundromat to ask for help, though. Keith crosses his arms, squinting.

“My spoken Galran is better than written,” Keith mumbles. “And I don’t think this is Galran.”

“Not Altean, either,” Shiro agrees, not that he expected it would be. It’s strange to think that Altean is a dead language— like Latin on a universal scale. He traces the shape of one of the symbols on the machine, looking like a triangle with a smiley face within it. He doubts it’s meant to be a smiley face.

“Well,” Keith says. “We either wing it or wear dirty clothes.”

Shiro pretends to consider as he picks up the bag of shirts and tosses it into the machine. “Guess we’re winging it.”

“When do we ever not?” Keith agrees, laughing, and presses the biggest button.

It’s the right button to get things to start. The machine gives a low grumble and then whirls to life, water splashing into the chamber.

Satisfied that they aren’t about to cause an explosion, they sit together on a bench to watch their clothes.

Keith yawns, sighing, and slumps against Shiro’s side. Shiro’s quick to loop his arm around Keith’s shoulders and tug him in closer, just holding him.

It’s easy. It’s the way their friendship has always been. Shiro really doesn’t need to overthink it too much.

“I should have installed a washing machine on the ship,” Keith mumbles.

“You thought of everything else,” Shiro says. “Besides, that green water is still _weird._ ”

“There’s nothing in the water. It’s just green!”

“That’s weird!” Shiro insists, laughing.

Keith laughs, too, nudging his elbow into Shiro’s side. “You are such a whiner.”

It’s easy— their trip to the laundromat is slow and peaceful. It feels nice to have that level of peace. Shiro squeezes Keith in closer, and Keith sighs, pillowing his cheek against Shiro’s shoulder.

They don’t need to overthink it.

-

Once back on LP, they resume their course to Anterrilyn. As the day-cycle nears its end, the lights dimming around them, Keith sets the ship to autopilot and beckons Shiro away from the copilot’s seat to return to their living quarters.

Keith sprawls out on the bed with a huff and squirms down over the mattress, propping his feet up against the wall their bed’s cubbied into.

Shiro observes him from the floor, completing his evening crunches. Keith isn’t looking at him but rather up at the ceiling, his arms tucked behind his head. He looks like he could start doing crunches at any moment, if not for the bow-legged spread of his legs.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith asks, waiting until Shiro’s finished a set.

“Yeah?” Shiro says, lying on the floor, arms sprawled out at his sides. He stares at his knees and then glances up as Keith rolls onto his side, regarding Shiro.

Shiro watches Keith tuck his cheek up against his hand, his eyes warm even in the dim lighting of the living quarters. Shiro pauses, just looking up into Keith’s eyes in turn, studying his face. He looks perfectly at ease, perfectly at home in their ship. _Their ship._

Shiro lets himself indulge in the fantasy that they could do this forever— just the two of them, exploring the universe together. Living here together. He imagines sitting up and going to Keith, cradling his jaw with his hands and pressing kiss after kiss to his mouth. Imagines falling against Keith gently and holding him through the night.

Shiro knows these aren’t great thoughts to have in close quarters. But he can’t quite banish the thought of it at all.

 _But what if Keith could like you back,_ his traitorous mind asks. Shiro pushes that thought down. Sometimes he thinks it, sometimes he almost wants to pick at it— but he doesn’t let himself. He doesn’t know what he’d do, if he started really picking at that thought and watched it unravel before him.

Keith still hasn’t said anything, though. He just keeps watching Shiro.

Shiro grins at him, feeling shy. “What’s up, Keith?”

Keith shrugs one shoulder, eyes hooded. He looks sleepy at the edges. “I just…” Keith begins and then pauses, licking his lips. That’s definitely distracting. “You’re comfortable enough in this bed, right? It’s not too soft?”

Shiro pauses and props himself up onto his elbows. He feels the burn in his abs but ignores it, tilting his head at Keith.

“Yeah,” Shiro tells him. “It’s comfortable.”

Keith nods, looking relieved. “I just… if you wanted me to sleep on the floor so you can have more space, I don’t mind. Or next time we’re at the space mall, we can look for something different.”

Shiro feels his cheeks turn pink, embarrassed, and wonders if maybe _Keith’s_ the uncomfortable one being stuck in a tiny bed with Shiro. He sits up more fully, folding his legs together and peering up at Keith.

Maybe the bed on T’vinb reminded him of what having actual space feels like.

“Are you comfortable?” Shiro asks.

Keith nods. “I don’t mind how it is. I just— want you to be happy. This is all so you can be happy.”

Something aches in Shiro’s chest and he abandons his spot on the floor, standing and approaching Keith. Keith sits up, too, as Shiro comes to him, scooting back to make room. Shiro pulls himself up onto their bunk and sits down, facing Keith.

He thinks of his plank of wood burning in the Trox bonfire.

“You should be happy, too,” Shiro says. “We talked about this. You’re not doing this just to make me happy.”

Keith rolls his eyes, as if the notion of his happiness is too absurd for him to fathom. That makes Shiro’s chest ache, too.

“Keith,” Shiro insists, reaching out his hand to touch Keith’s arm, squeezing his bicep and waiting for Keith to flick his eyes up towards him. “You’re not just doing this for me, remember?”

“I remember,” Keith says. He covers his hand over Shiro’s, his fingertips skimming over Shiro’s knuckles before resting. Electricity zips down Shiro’s spine. “It’s for both of us.” He grins up at Shiro. “Being with you makes me happy. Um. Out here, with you, this is fun. I’m having fun.”

Shiro breathes out and squeezes Keith’s bicep.

“You’d tell me if something was upsetting you, right?” Shiro asks. “If you weren’t happy?”

He thinks of that first night at the Fire Festival— how quiet Keith got. How he burrowed into Shiro that night, seeking comfort.

Keith nods. “I promise.”

They sit there in a silence, studying one another. Finally, Shiro asks, “What’s brought all this up? The bed thing.”

“I’ve just been thinking.”

Shiro nods, considering. He drops his hand from Keith’s arm, afraid he’s lingering too long. His hand bumps against Keith’s thigh as he withdraws it and he feels himself flush. Keith ducks his head, fiddling with the blanket sprawled out on the mattress.

Keith breathes out a small laugh. “I used to dream about flying with you,” he admits. “Before Kerberos. I wanted to do everything I could to be a pilot by the time you got back, so we could fly together on the next mission.”

Shiro hums, quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

Keith swirls his fingers through the downy fabric of their blanket. His face looks soft at the edges, less angular and feline, and more like a boy lost in the desert again.

That time feels so long ago now. Impossibly long ago. Sometimes, Shiro can’t believe that was ever a life they lived— sometimes can’t remember who he used to be. That Shiro feels too distant, too long gone.

Not that it serves Shiro any good to think about the time that’s passed between then and now— how, sometimes, he wonders if he really can be considered that same person at all. If that Shiro isn’t long dead.

Keith says, voice soft and thready, “I never really thought the way we’d fly together would first be sentient lions and now… something we built together.”

There’s something sweet in the words, vulnerable in a way that Shiro can’t quite place. Shiro doesn’t really think about it when he reaches out to take Keith’s hand.

Keith’s hand is slim and elegant, rough with calluses all the same, and looks so incredibly small in Shiro’s Altean hand. He nearly dwarfs it and he fears, maybe, that the hand is too cold for Keith. But Keith doesn’t seem to mind the touch, his fingers curling around Shiro’s palm easily and pressing there.

“I always knew we’d fly together,” Shiro says. And that much is true. Even when he was wracked with pain, wondering if he’d ever fly again after Kerberos, he knew he’d stubborn his way into flying at least one last time— with Keith.

Even back then, he knew he wanted a future with Keith. Even if Keith’s future had very little of Shiro in it.

So much has changed since then. Shiro’s body still aches with phantom pain and the memory of disease, but he has time now to live the life he never thought he’d have. Sometimes it overwhelms him, to think that he doesn’t have to rush through life, always keeping those walls up. That there are things he once dismissed as unimportant to the amount of time he had left that he can now actively consider.

Shiro looks down at their hands. The way they fit together. It should look strange, the way Keith’s hand sits in Shiro’s metal one. But it works.

They’ve always worked, haven’t they?

“We made it, Keith,” Shiro murmurs.

Keith huffs a breath, wavering just a little, before he looks back up at Shiro. His smile is a slow-blooming thing, but tugs at Shiro’s heart. Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand, and even through the tech, Shiro can feel it.

“I always…” Keith hesitates.

“Yes?” Shiro asks, gently prompting.

“I always worried, back then. That you were just putting up with me.”

Shiro shakes his head. “You have no idea how you saved me then, Keith. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Keith lets out another breath, something like a hiccup, and shakes his head disbelievingly. “See, that’s what I could never understand. You didn’t seem like you needed anybody, much less someone like me.”

Shiro frowns. “Keith—”

“No, I know,” Keith murmurs and squeezes Shiro’s hand. “I know, Shiro.”

Keith can’t possibly know how deeply Shiro’s words ring true. How infinitely and completely he needed Keith. Still needs Keith.

Shiro gives him a shaky smile. “You’re my best friend.” He hesitates, too many words he won’t say on the tip of his tongue. Keith looks luminous, sitting there before him. Shiro takes a deep breath and then says, “You’re… everything, Keith.”

He holds his breath, afraid that he’s said too much. Keith looks up at him, startled, and then flushes red. His smile is that same little one that Shiro loves— not Keith’s usual dagger-sharp smile, but something softer. Something, Shiro wants to believe, meant for only him.

“You’re everything to me, too, Shiro.”

Shiro’s heart does a kickflip in his chest and lodges up into his throat. Shiro nods.

“I don’t know why I’ve never said that aloud before,” Shiro says, the admission easing something in his chest. He should have said it every day. He should.

Keith smiles. “Yeah. Me too.” Keith must see something in Shiro’s expression, because he breathes out and tugs on Shiro’s hand. “Come here.”

“Oh,” Shiro says in a murmur and goes when Keith lets go of his hand and curls his arms around Shiro’s waist, tugging him into a hug.

Shiro drapes his arms over Keith’s shoulders and curls tight, pulling him against his chest. Keith makes a sound and then squirms closer to hug him, his face pressing up against Shiro’s throat.

They stay like that, just hugging each other, and Shiro’s never felt quite so safe as in that moment. There’s something about the sure way Keith holds him— as if he’s never going to let him go again.

Shiro sinks against Keith, squeezing him just on the edge of too-tight.

-

They’re roughly through half the first movement on their way to their next stop when LP gives a little chirp of a warning. Shiro frowns, tilting his head to assess the readings.

Shiro’s the one piloting this morning, letting Keith stay sleepy and curled up, his toes curling and uncurling around the edge of the copilot’s chair. Shiro’s enjoyed the chance to let LP gallop through the stars, dipping and weaving her way through the asteroid belt between them as they plot their course for the Qit sector and beyond, towards Anterrilyn.

“What’s up?” Keith asks.

Shiro hums as he flicks through the readings. “Think we’re running low on oxygen and water. We have enough to last us a bit, but we should make a pitstop.”

Keith stretches his legs, nods, and plucks up their PADD, thumbing through it and studying the starmaps, searching for a nearby planet with enough ambient oxygen for them to collect for their ship.

“How long do we have?”

“Still a movement’s worth,” Shiro says, assuring. “But if there’s something nearby, we should definitely stock up so the recyclers don’t get too stale.”

Keith nods and continues searching, brow pinched in that thoughtful way of his. Shiro always wants to reach over and smooth it away with his thumb. But, in so many things, Shiro’s learned to restrain himself. Keith scratches at his cheek, his familiar nervous tic as he drags his thumb across his cheek scar.

After some searching, Keith leans forward towards the navigator module and inputs some coordinates. “This one.”

Shiro glances at the new directional trajectory the ship’s mapping out and gives a small nod.

It’s still a few vargas out. Shiro doesn’t mind the pitstop; it’s always good to stretch their legs. The space laundromat’s still well behind them and Anterrilyn is still well ahead.

“It’s kind of nice,” Shiro says absently.

“Mm?”

“Being spontaneous,” Shiro says and grins. “As much as inputting and plotting a course for a specific planet can be spontaneous.”

Keith snorts and casts Shiro a warm smile. “Okay. So we’ll do something spontaneous on the planet.”

Shiro laughs. “Is it really spontaneous if we’re planning it?”

“Live a little, Admiral,” Keith teases, his smile beautiful and wicked. Shiro feels like he’s made of light, warm and glowing inside him. It’s a wonder to him that it doesn’t burst from him whenever he smiles at Keith, whenever he feels the fizzy, warming feeling of his love pressing up against his chest.

There’s something about being out in space with Keith. They’ve known each other long enough now that they don’t really need to fill the silence that lapses between them. It’s comfortable, familiar. It’s enough for Shiro to turn his head and see Keith sitting there, often looking back at him. He likes spending vargas traveling the stars with him, taking turns walking around to stretch their legs, or to cuddle with the space wolf when he starts nosing for attention.

But the long hours together make Shiro aware of how much they haven’t said to each other. Shiro can’t help but think of their conversation that night— _you’re everything to me_ — and what a marvel it is that both of them could have been sitting on that and yet never expressed it.

Shiro knows everything else he’s never said before, to Keith or anyone. He wonders what else it is that Keith’s holding inside.

There’s always something new to reveal. Like now:

“Remember that hoodie you really loved that just disappeared?” Keith says, apropos of nothing.

“Yeah?” Shiro prompts. He had an old grey hoodie, oversized even for Shiro, and impossibly soft. He washed it but only ever air-dried it so the dryer wouldn’t whisk away the fluffy-softness of the inside of it. It was perfect for cold nights.

“I took it,” Keith says without even a shred of remorse. “Months before Kerberos. I wanted something to remember you by and was afraid you wouldn’t give me anything.”

“Of course I—”

“I know,” Keith says. He smiles. “I still have that leather jacket, too.”

“So you’re saying the hoodie still exists?”

“Somewhere,” Keith says agreeably, cheeks pink. “Probably the shack. Um. If you want it back—”

Shiro imagines Keith in that shack, alone in the desert for a year, burying his face against the hoodie and clinging. He wonders if it smells more like Keith now.

Shiro shakes his head. “If you were going to steal anything from me—”

“Aside from your car,” Keith interrupts.

Shiro barks a laugh. “Aside from my car, then you picked a good thing to steal.”

Keith flashes a grin, wicked and beautiful, and doesn’t look ashamed at all. “I’ll buy you a new hoodie. Something just as good. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Shiro says, teasing. “So… what’s with the sudden confession?”

“That cluster of stars looks like a sweatshirt,” Keith says and points. Shiro swivels his head to look and, sure enough, the formation of the stars looks like a constellation perfectly spelling out a hooded sweatshirt.

“I wonder if any of these planets look up at those stars and call it the hoodie constellation,” Shiro says.

It makes Keith laugh.

“Well,” Shiro says. “Thanks for finally coming clean.”

Keith snorts. “Big weight off my chest.”

And it does feel nice. To put voice to the things they never have before. In so many ways, Shiro knows he and Keith operate with action over words. Shiro knows that Keith loves him, as a brother or as a friend, knew it even before he said it that day at the clone facility. He knows that Keith would go to the ends of the Earth for him, even if he’s never said that.

Shiro already knew that Keith considered him everything. The thought still makes Shiro blush, but— no. He already knew it.

But there’s some power to voicing these things, all the same. A punctuation on a long-held vow. Something warm to shelter in Shiro’s chest, glowing and surreal.

“Have you ever stolen anything from me?” Keith asks, muffling his smile against his hand, elbow on his knee as he sits sprawled and improper in his copilot’s seat, one leg draped over the arm so he can poke at Shiro’s thigh with his toe. “Or is that too spontaneous for you, Old Timer?”

Nothing comes to mind, but Shiro isn’t sure if it’s a lack of spontaneity or not. He shakes his head, chuckling.

“If you haven’t noticed what I’ve stolen, then that just means I’m that good of a thief,” Shiro teases.

Then he winks.

Keith sputters. He covers it with a snort that bubbles into a laugh, burying his face against his knee. His hair falls forward, hiding his face but exposing the shell of his ear, flushing a deep red, so deep it nearly looks purple.

Keith is pretty and plummy, Shiro thinks unhelpfully, and it makes him smile all wide and moony.

They pass the rest of the time in companionable silence as they approach the recharging planet. Keith double-checks the starmap and inputs a new captain’s log for Shiro to outline their trajectory and intentions. He looks perfectly in control, manning their ship with one hand, his other hand scrubbing through the wolf’s fur as he shoves his face into Keith’s lap.

After some quick database searching, Keith gives a hum. “Planet itself isn’t populated but there’s a colony on one of the moons. Apparently the planet’s a popular pilgrimage location.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, humming. “The people on the moon don’t breathe oxygen, so they can’t stay on the planet long.” Keith flips through the PADD, scanning the information. “Lots of water. Apparently their pilgrimage is to reach the water and its healing qualities.”

Shiro almost wants to laugh but swallows it down, feeling guilty. He’s not amused by the belief— water seems to be a healing entity across many cultures, even cross-planetary— but more the familiar ache in his own body. Healing. It’d be nice to heal, and it’d be nice if it were as easy as dropping his body down into some water.

It hurts a little to think of himself as so dismissive of it.

“See all that?” Keith asks as they make their approach, their ship swallowed within the shadow of the planet at night. Below them, even miles above the atmosphere, they can make out a soft glow, swirling along the planet’s surface.

“Water?”

“Bioluminescence, I think,” Keith says, reading with a thoughtful frown. “Easy to mistake it for city lights though, right?”

“Will it blind us if we get closer?”

“Aim for a darker spot and we’ll be fine, I think,” Keith says, calculating and flipping the landing coordinates into the ship. The ship gives its receiving chirp and starts directing Shiro’s trajectory.

It’s an easy enough landing, thankfully, less bumpy than others. The heat shield withstands the atmosphere burning across their hull and once they’re fully landed, Keith disembarks with a small hop from the ramp, landing on squishy, mossy ground.

Shiro follows him, looking around. They’ve landed on a small island, one of several archipelagos across the tiny planet. It’s, as far as Shiro and Keith can tell, almost entirely made of ocean.

It’s strangely quiet and nothing like an Earth ocean. There are three moons competing with control of the tides but it seems to pull the water in three separate directions, smoothing it out like glass. Across the surface, bioluminescence from some unknown creature curls and swirls in little pulses of light, casting an eerie glow along with the light of the moons.

They’ve set up LP to absorb the oxygen into its tanks, replenishing the stale oxygen and filtering it accordingly. Water will take longer, and Shiro already mourns taking this pretty water and having it come out green in the shower anyway.

He turns to tell Keith as much only to find Keith stripping down.

Shiro sputters. “Whoa— Keith!”

Keith casts him a wicked smile as he yanks his sweater over his head and tosses it to the ground. He kicks off his boots next, seemingly unperturbed when he sets his socked feet down on the mushy earth.

“Spontaneous, remember?” Keith tells him, bouncing on one foot to yank off first one sock and then the other.

“What are you—”

“Go swimming with me, Shiro,” Keith says, commanding like he knows Shiro will agree— like he knows that Shiro will follow Keith anywhere.

But really, Shiro has no warning or way to prepare for when Keith strips off his pants.

He’s seen Keith in various states of undress before— even before this trip— but it’s so sudden that Shiro really can’t process what he’s seeing. He stares stupidly at the pretty flex of Keith’s thighs as he kicks off his pants, standing there only in a pair of cute underwear that, really, Shiro shouldn’t think is cute.

Shiro pulls his gaze away to eye the water, wondering if it’s cold. He hears Keith pluck off his underwear and is filled with the painful certainty that his best friend is naked and standing right there beside him.

He _stares_ at the water, his face turning red.

And then Keith laughs. Shiro takes a deep breath and glances back at him. Keith’s kicking his clothes and boots into a pile, hands on his hips. Shiro’s eyes skirt over his ass before he yanks his gaze up again. There’s the scar from his Trial cutting a jagged line across his shoulder, and a smattering of other scars. Keith is wicked and beautiful and seems to glow in the swirling blue light of this planet.

Keith turns then, eyes bright as he looks at Shiro. Shiro very pointedly doesn’t let his gaze drift down past Keith’s chest.

“Come on,” Keith goads.

“Well,” Shiro says.

“Don’t think,” Keith says, grinning. “Just do it. Let’s be spontaneous, Old Timer.”

Keith steps forward, bold, and tugs on Shiro’s shirt. Shiro’s entire face heats and he nearly sputters, standing there like an idiot while his very beautiful, very naked best friend tugs at his clothes. Shiro grasps at his shirt quickly and tugs it over his head before Keith can see his reaction.

He nearly gets stuck, fumbling and eager to get the shirt off. He drops it on the ground beside the pile of Keith’s clothes and when he dares to glance at Keith, he finds Keith smiling at him.

It’s not his wicked grin this time, but something softer. He looks up at Shiro like he’s proud of him. Shiro ducks his head, hiding his smile, and toes off his boots and leans down to pull his socks off and tuck them into the boots before he steps each foot down onto the mossy earth.

He’s aware, almost painfully aware, of what he must look like as he strips down. His scars criss-cross his body. Shiro isn’t ashamed of them— isn’t so stupid as to think that Keith would ever find them ugly, because that’s never been who Keith is— but he’s aware of them, aware of every inch of his body that’s been carved into.

Shiro knows he isn’t ugly. Shiro knows he’s attractive, and the scars don’t change that at all. To find his own scars ugly would be a cruelty towards all his friends who bear their own scars. Shiro doesn’t have any deep thoughts about his scars. They’re part of him, just as they’re part of Keith, part of Pidge, part of Allura, part of Lance and Hunk and Coran. None of them left the war without scars.

Shiro knows he likely cuts a handsome figure, standing there like a naked idiot on the moss.

It used to freak him out, though— how many of his scars were carved in as a mirror. Memories of scars he once had, from a different body, and recreated on this cloned body instead. There are new scars, too. His eyes glance over the faded scar on his thigh in the shape of his own handprint, a hand he no longer has, as he tugs down his pants.

He glances up at Keith to find Keith looking at him, smiling still. Shiro swallows thickly, thumbs hooking in the clingy little underwear he wears— a pair of modest boxer briefs he tends to favor and now fears is entirely too exposing.

“Okay?” Keith asks.

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. Keith is the brightest thing on this planet— outshining each moon, every lick of the water beneath them.

Shiro steadies himself and tugs off his underwear. He can do this. He’s an adult. An adult about to skinny-dip on an alien planet. But an adult all the same.

Shiro takes stock of his clothes, piling them up slowly and then, with a thoughtful frown, decides to leave his arm behind. An odd thought, but that’s his reality. He lets it sit on top of his clothes and with a small sigh, closes his eyes and focuses on powering down his shoulder port.

That hum that seems to always zip through his blood quiets. He doesn’t feel empty, only suspended.

“Good?” Keith asks again, something soft and breathless hinging his voice up.

“Mm.”

“Okay. Yeah, good.”

With that, Keith is done talking. He doesn’t wait for Shiro to say anything else, just turning and running. He races off the edge of the cliff they’ve parked on, his descent down into the water fluid and free. Shiro hears his splash, watches the whoosh of water swallow Keith and cradle him, suspended with his arms out, before he bobs back out with a crisp laugh.

And Shiro is, of course, always helpless but to follow him. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and takes a running leap— letting himself enjoy the feeling of falling, of gravity tugging him ever-onward towards Keith.

Always to Keith.

Shiro splashes into the water and lets the feeling of it surround him, encompassing him. It’s exhilarating, to fall and then to sink, to find his natural nadir before the water inevitably tugs him back up again.

He breaches the water and immediately finds Keith looking at him. They meet each other’s eyes and Shiro can’t even begin to hold back his grin, treading water.

“Nothing like the desert,” he says, thinking of all the other cliffs they’ve dived off of— together and separately.

Keith snorts and splashes at Shiro. He ducks beneath the water before Shiro can retaliate and Shiro takes his time observing the slinky, sliding shape of Keith as he slices through the water.

“Do you feel it?” Keith asks him in a quiet voice once he emerges again, the two of them treading. Shiro’s not sure how deep this sea goes and the wonder of it is near suffocating.

“Feel what?” Shiro asks, lost in the feeling of Keith there with him, his strong shoulders arcing through the water, the way his wet hair clings to his face and forehead in a way that should be unattractive but just looks effortlessly beautiful. He can’t imagine what Keith means, but Shiro knows everything he feels— that deep swelling of love and affection in his chest, never dormant and never far from his thoughts; the swirl and slide of the bioluminescence of the water curling around his body like a lover’s grasp; the deep, dark well of Keith’s eyes.

Keith hums, thoughtfully. “This water. It’s all quintessence.”

Shiro’s brow crinkles as he tries to focus on the water. It feels like water. Alien water, perhaps, but still wet and buoying.

“The glowing,” Keith elaborates, dogpaddling closer to Shiro so he’s treading water right in front of him. He stares into Shiro’s eyes and slowly lets his hand touch Shiro’s shoulder. The port’s still closed from before, no glowing blue light to compete against the water. Keith’s fingers just barely ghost over the scattered scar tissue that once was his shoulder.

“It’s quintessence?” Shiro asks.

“Not all of it,” Keith says with a frown. “At least, I don’t think so.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “It’s… I haven’t really talked about it, but… I can feel it. Sometimes. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Shiro considers that. “And you can feel it now?”

“It’s deep down,” Keith murmurs, eyes closed. He doesn’t quite fall into a trance, but his brow pinches in concentration. “Like… a deep well or vent or something. It’s what’s helping all this glowing. It’s not a creature at all, but quintessence. I think. Might explain why this water would be healing to the aliens.”

“Do you feel yourself getting healed?” Shiro asks, not quite a tease but edging on that line.

Mostly, he’s just staring at Keith in wonder.

Keith grunts and shoves his hair away from his face, slicking it back. His eyes are so beautiful when they look up at Shiro and catch his gaze. Shiro can’t really help it when his hand strays out and touches Keith’s hip, keeping him buoyed despite their treading. Shiro thinks that the water’s supportive enough that they could float on their backs without trouble, like with salt water on Earth.

“Mom says that sometimes people can sense these things,” Keith says. “She thinks maybe because I was born so close to the Blue Lion.”

“Ah,” Shiro murmurs. “Well. You felt Blue despite not having a connection with her, right? She was calling out to you.”

Keith nods. He swallows, eyes dipping down to study the water. “I just… wanted to find you.”

“You did.”

Keith nods, mouth quirking into a slight smile.

“Anyway,” Keith says, voice quiet. “I’ve been trying to pay attention to it whenever I feel it. I can’t do much with it, I’m just… aware.”

“Makes sense,” Shiro says. He closes his eyes, trying to focus. He thinks that, perhaps, beneath the lick of the water, he can feel something deeper, more cosmic, more primal. He’s not sure if he’s just stretching to feel it or if it’s real.

“I think,” Keith murmurs, “sometimes you should be able to feel it, too— after being with Black. And now Atlas.”

Shiro nods, keeping his eyes shut. He feels both of Keith’s hands touch him now, holding him up. Shiro must have stilled and he bobs a bit in the water, trying to stretch down and down and down further still.

He thinks, maybe, he can feel it. It feels like how Keith always feels to him— powerful, quiet, and all-encompassing. It’s just a whisper, like the way Black used to settle in the back of his mind, like the way Atlas will prod gently at his walls to get his attention.

He breathes out and opens his eyes and finds Keith so much closer than he was before.

The urge to kiss him is so strong that it’s nearly suffocating. Shiro wonders what would happen if he did— if he dipped down and tipped his head and kissed Keith, right here in the water. Keith’s hands are soft but powerful against his body, holding him up. His hair clings to his face and only highlights his cheekbones and his cosmic eyes.

Shiro swallows, feeling himself start to shake with adrenaline, fueled on just by the thought of it. It terrifies him, but the longer he’s here with Keith, the more important it feels to touch him, to reach out and _do_ something.

He doesn’t know what Keith would do, if he were to do that. Sometimes he thinks he can see this conversation playing out favorably— Shiro confessing he likes Keith, Keith giving it a chance. Other times, it’s less favorable: Keith gentle but firm in rejecting Shiro as nothing more than a friend.

A brother.

Shiro’s hand finds Keith’s hip. It’s too intimate a touch but Keith doesn’t shrug it off. His lips part, just a little, as he blinks up at Shiro.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers and his voice sounds too heaved-out, too empty and longing. In the wake of the single word, of the single name that means everything to him, he has no idea what else to say.

Keith makes the softest sound in response, his hand flexing where it rests against Shiro’s shoulder, the other at his waist. He doesn’t pull away.

“Can you feel it?” Keith asks, voice soft.

And Shiro wonders if he’s asking something different. Shiro can only nod.

“Sometimes,” Keith whispers, eyes hooding before he glances down— at Shiro’s mouth, Shiro thinks with a start and then neatly quashes that back down— “I think I can feel _you._ Sometimes you feel like this.”

“Quintessence?” Shiro asks, his brain fuzzed out. His voice is a low murmur, his heart a skittering rabbit. All he wants to do is pull Keith to him and kiss him, if only Keith would give him the indication it’s okay, if only he could just push past that fear.

Coward. _Coward._

“Yeah,” Keith murmurs. “Quintessence is everything, right? Um, in everything. You’re—” He swallows, his hand flexing tight against Shiro’s shoulder, fingertips digging into Shiro’s scars. Tethering them together. Surrounding him. In an impossibly little voice, Keith whispers, “Shiro.”

Shiro’s hand squeezes at Keith’s hip and then, slowly, impossibly slowly, he lets his hand drag up to touch Keith’s waist— so small, too small— his fingers touching at his ribs like the keys to an instrument. He thinks he feels Keith shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way Shiro feels like he’s trembling apart.

They’re suspended like that. Touching one another and staring into each other’s eyes.

Shiro takes a deep breath, swallowing back the urge to kiss Keith— and lets the moment pass.

_Coward._

“It makes sense,” Shiro murmurs, glancing down at the way his hand presses to Keith’s waist beneath the surface of the water, the ripples they make obscuring his view. “After everything… Why wouldn’t I be able to feel like and feel quintessence?”

Keith’s smile turns wan, his eyes a little glassy. “We never really… We’ve never really talked about everything that’s happened to us.”

“No,” Shiro agrees.

The water feels too cold. There’s too much welling up in the distance, their past threatening to swallow them. Sometimes Shiro can’t fathom how they could have survived and encountered so much, how it hasn’t buried them alive yet.

Shiro breathes out, feeling shaky, and stares into Keith’s eyes. It’s centering. Keith’s always been the anchor that steadies him but never drags him down beneath the surface.

It’d be so easy, he thinks, to lift his hand and touch Keith’s cheek. As soon as he thinks it, he does it— his thumb slotting into the hardened edge of Keith’s scar. Keith’s eyes flutter once before they steady on Shiro again.

Gently, Keith leans into the touch, his face flushing that pretty plum color again.

“I really…” Keith begins and pauses.

“Yes?” Shiro prompts, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I know we both have walls,” Keith says in a murmur, sighing. “I— you’re the person I trust most in the universe, Shiro. And there’s— yeah. Too much I haven’t said.”

Shiro makes a soft sound, his thumb pressing against the edge of Keith’s scar. The truth is, Keith’s said enough, has a heart he wears on his sleeve. It’s Shiro who’s held himself back for too long, swallowing all the things he should say.

“I worry if I’m ever going to be ‘better’,” Shiro admits. “Water’s not healing me, I guess.”

Keith huffs a breath, something that’s almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too. I wonder that, too, about myself.” He looks up at Shiro, eyes glassy. “But, Shiro… I’m going to be here with you, no matter what. No matter what, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, breathless. “Me too, Keith.”

Keith nods, just barely, not enough to dislodge Shiro’s hand on his cheek. He looks satisfied enough with the answer.

They stay like that, suspended in the water. It swirls around them, no current and no tide. Just the two of them sending ripples out along the glinting surface of the water. The moons shine bright overhead, the bioluminescence flickering in and out. If Shiro looks out far enough— if he’s willing to look away from Keith— he can see the way the water reflects the sky. Two universes, stretching out beyond them.

Above them, the ship— their ship— rests, collecting necessary materials to continue their journey. Their stacks of clothes sit side-by-side. There’s enough of a cliff-face that it’ll be a pain in the ass to climb back up later, naked and bare-footed.

But for now, it’s just him and Keith.

Shiro swipes his thumb down over the scar on Keith’s cheek. Keith heaves a little breath, almost like a gut-punch, his eyelids fluttering before they fall shut. Keith leans into that touch, his lips slightly parted.

The urge to kiss him returns. Shiro shoves it down once again.

Shiro knows that there are friends out there who can be this tactile with each other. He’s seen plenty of friends kiss one another on the cheeks, for example. Long, lingering hugs. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. He and Keith touch one another— but a kiss is very different from a hand on a shoulder, or a hug that lingers maybe a second longer than it should.

“Maybe…” Keith begins, eyes still shut and still leaning heavily against the wide palm of Shiro’s hand. His hands are sure on Shiro’s body. “Maybe you should see someone about everything.” He blushes a bit, blinking his eyes open to peer at Shiro, as if afraid that Shiro’ll be insulted. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing. Just… it might help, right?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, reluctantly agreeing. “I guess. I’ve thought about it.”

Keith nods, accepting the answer. He’s not about to push, Shiro can tell.

Still, the words bubble up and Shiro can’t hold them back. “I just don’t know how to find anybody who’d be able to help.” He sighs and says, mockingly, “Hello, doctor, how do I process the fact that I was captured by aliens and made to fight for my life for a year and now I’m afraid I’m basically just a weapon? Oh, also, I’m a clone and being cloned cured my terminal illness… but now my body doesn’t feel like my own.”

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, mournful.

Shiro shakes his head. “I know. PTSD and body dysphoria. I’m not special.”

His thumb slots against Keith’s scar again. A million things he could say push at the back of his throat— _I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you. I’m sorry I’m not better. I’m sorry that you only ever see me as good._

Keith’s eyes are twin pools of glowing water, his expression firm. “You’re special,” Keith murmurs, “for so many reasons. And you deserve to know that about yourself, too.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says and wishes he could see what Keith always seems to see when he looks at him.

Keith’s hand touches Shiro’s cheek now, too, mirroring him. There’s no scar for him to trace, but his hand cups his jaw like it belongs there, slotting perfectly into place.

They stare at one another.

Shiro murmurs, “Can I be honest?”

“Always,” Keith says instantly.

It makes Shiro smile, a wan thing in the dim light of this planet. He treads water, sighing. “I’m afraid.” When Keith makes a soft sound of surprise, it just makes Shiro smile more. “I’m afraid to unpack everything that’s happened to us… because once I pull at that thread, what if everything comes undone? What if I’m not okay and acknowledging that just makes it worse?”

Keith hums thoughtfully, biting his lip. His fingertips ghost along Shiro’s jaw, simply touching for the sake of touching.

“You don’t always have to be so strong, Shiro,” Keith says, reassuring him, his eyes so fathomless and sweet. His fingertips brush back, pushing Shiro’s wet hair away from his face, scrubbing along the soft buzz of his undercut before settling back at the curve of his jaw. Shiro shivers, anyway. His body aches; it feels less like the water is healing him and more like it’s summoning all that ancient pain inside him.

“I know,” Shiro says. “It’s difficult, though.”

Keith nods. “I get it. It is for me, too, sometimes.”

It’s hard for Shiro to believe, considering how open Keith can be with him— but he knows how guarded Keith can be to everyone else. It just makes him all the more grateful to have Keith’s trust, and his friendship.

He’d never want to do anything to jeopardize that.

“Keith,” Shiro says softly. “You can tell me anything. And you deserve to know how special you are, too.”

Keith’s smile is slight and just a touch wry. He laughs and pats his hand against Shiro’s cheek in a few short little slaps of skin on skin.

“Thanks,” Keith says, smiling. “I… Well. I must have done something right, if I got you. Right?”

Shiro laughs, feeling his face heat up. “I could say that about you, too.”

Keith shakes his head, ducking his face and laughing, his hair falling from behind his neck, brushing across his shoulders.

Regretfully, Shiro drops his hand from his cheek, but lets it fall onto Keith’s shoulder. He traces his fingers over the sharp edge of his Trial scar, cut deep into Keith’s skin. Keith makes a soft sound, head tipping down to watch the movement of Shiro’s hand.

“I’m…” Shiro begins, unsure how to put to words what he’s feeling.

He realizes they’ve both stopped treading water, just letting the ocean itself hold them up. He cups Keith’s shoulder tight and feels Keith’s hand flex against his waist, his other hand still touching Shiro’s cheek.

He focuses on the feeling of Keith’s hands, the way Keith’s presses tight against his side as he breathes, the way Keith’s hand follows Shiro’s words, never leaving his jaw even as Shiro speaks.

“I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished, Keith,” Shiro says. “I always knew you were going to do amazing things. I’m just glad I get to see it.”

Keith does make a sound this time, soft and mournful and punched out of him. His hand cups Shiro’s jaw tight, fingers digging against his cheek. Almost like he’s going to drag him back down towards him. But his hand still rests there and Keith doesn’t move.

He does look overwhelmed though, like he’s torn between crying and smiling. He settles somewhere in between, his expression pinched.

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs. And then, quieter, soft like a prayer: “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

Shiro knows he’d pull Keith to him, hug him tight, if he weren’t afraid of them falling beneath the water’s surface.

Instead, he swallows and summons up as much strength as he can manage— and leans down to press his lips against Keith’s forehead. It feels like the right thing to do, but he’s aware it’s not something he’s ever done before. He hears Keith gasp, his eyes going wide as Shiro pulls back again. He blinks up at Shiro, bewildered. And then his face turns that pretty shade of red hinted with purple.

Shiro tries to stay calm. Friends do this all the time, he’s sure. He and Keith are good friends— they understand each other. This is okay.

Keith’s expression goes soft a moment later and then, blushing, he dips beneath the surface of the water, his hair coiling up above him like an ink spill. He blows bubbles, completely submerged, before he pushes himself back up again to breathe.

He splashes at Shiro, hitting his chin with water.

“If I have a say, Keith,” Shiro says, grinning a little even as he dodges away from another splash. “You’ll be stuck with me forever.”

“Ha,” Keith breathes, squeezing his eyes shut and fighting back a smile. “ _Good._ ” Keith pauses, treading water again, and then sighs. “Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Even if you’re never ‘better’ again,” Keith says. “You’re still here. And you’re alive. And that’s important. That matters. Don’t forget that. Okay?”

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, his heart tight in his throat. “I— yeah. Yeah, Keith. I won’t forget.”

-

Later, once they’re feeling oversaturated with the water, they take the horrible climb back up to their ship. Shiro tries very hard not to stare at Keith’s ass as they walk up the softer side of the cliff, but it’s very hard to avoid it when it’s right there at eye level.

It’s a very nice ass. Shiro forces himself to stare at Keith’s back instead, as if that’s any better.

They gather up their clothes and dress sloppily before heading back onto the ship. Shiro feels strangely achy and knows he’ll pay for it tomorrow; undoubtedly he’ll have muscle pain in the morning. Keith confirms the oxygen and water levels are stable before they close up the ship for the night and prepare to sleep.

Their quarters feel cozy now, not cramped. Keith showers first and then Shiro. Shiro brushes his teeth, then makes room for Keith to do the same. Shiro watches Keith climb into their bed and scoot his way inward until his back is pressed to the wall, making space for Shiro to climb in after him. Shiro lets his arm rest in the cubby just like any other night.

But something feels charged between them. Keith looks like he’s waiting to say something, although he doesn’t speak at all even once Shiro’s lowered the lights and bathed their bedroom in darkness.

There’s the miniscule amount of space between them that there always is, even in close quarters.

If only to break the silence, Shiro finally murmurs, “Sorry in advance if I get nightmares.”

And, just like that, Keith’s hand finds his cheek. He cups Shiro’s jaw like it’s easy, his eyes seeming to glow in the dark— that strange Galra glow that Shiro can’t look away from. He peers up at Shiro.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Keith vows. “And it’s okay.”

Shiro breathes a laugh, his body feeling trembly and new. He blinks a few times to clear his vision and offers Keith a wobbly smile.

“Yeah.”

With that, they fall into silence again. Keith’s hand stays pressed to Shiro’s cheek— and it’s infinitely comforting. He can see when Keith blinks if only because his eyelids obscure the glowing purple of his eyes.

“Have I told you yet that I like the way your eyes glow?” he asks absently, voice thick with sleep.

Keith hums. “No.”

Shiro smiles, feels the pull of his cheek against Keith’s palm. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” Keith breathes. “… Today was nice, wasn’t it?”

“Really nice, Keith.”

Keith hesitates and then shifts closer. He pulls his hand away and Shiro blinks once and then Keith’s lips are pressing to Shiro’s cheek, just a brush of his Keith’s mouth before he’s drawing away again. It’s a barely-there kiss, just a whisper.

But Shiro feels breathless.

“Goodnight, Shiro,” Keith whispers. He settles back against the wall and closes his eyes, obscuring the intensity of his gaze.

Shiro touches his cheek before he can think to not do so. His face burns with heat. He swallows down and manages a strangled, “Goodnight, Keith.”

But he can’t sleep. His heart is pounding. He wonders if Keith can hear it in the stillness of their room. He doubts it— it doesn’t work like that. But Keith takes time to fall asleep, Shiro knows. So they lie there in total stillness and silence, neither of them sleeping.

Finally, Shiro thinks he notices Keith trembling, shivering beneath the blanket.

“Are you cold?” he whispers, breaking the silence.

Keith shakes his head, sucking in a deep breath. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

Keith says nothing and, swallowing again, Shiro shifts a little— bridging the gap between them. He reaches out, touching Keith’s shoulder and sliding his palm down, cupping Keith’s hip.

“Come here?” he invites, tugging once.

Keith breathes out and, still saying nothing, drifts towards Shiro. Shiro lets go of Keith’s hip to curl his arm around him, pulling him flush against his chest. Like this, he doesn’t doubt that Keith can notice how quick his heart is pounding. But Keith also gives a little sigh as he relaxes, curled up at Shiro’s side.

“I think this’ll probably be more comfortable, right?” Shiro asks, his nose pressed into Keith’s hair. It smells like the ocean outside.

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, pressing his face up against Shiro’s chest. His hold is tight, unrelenting as he clings to Shiro. “Thanks.”

He’s still trembling, but as Shiro rubs his back, he feels Keith slowly start to relax as he warms up.

“… I hate to say it,” Keith says. “But I think Airi was right about the body heat thing.”

Shiro snorts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says and only does what Shiro can describe as a nuzzle against Shiro’s shoulder. He presses his nose against Shiro’s clavicle, inhaling deeply. “I’m still getting used to it all.”

“Well,” Shiro says, rubbing his hand down Keith’s back. “I’m always happy to help.”

Keith hums, slowly relaxing further and going boneless against Shiro. “You always do. You’re so… You’re so you, Shiro.”

“Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

“It’s me. What do you think I mean?” Keith snorts against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro laughs and squeezes him tight. “Good point.”

“Just tell me if I’m bothering you, okay?”

Shiro shakes his head. “You couldn’t.” It comes out too earnest, too sweet. Shiro inhales. “I could stay like this forever,” Shiro admits, voice soft, pressing his nose into Keith’s hair. “I could be with you forever.”

“You could,” Keith agrees. There’s something off in his voice— not a bad off, but quieter. Like Keith’s working through something, or like he’s realized something.

Shiro holds his breath but he doesn’t know what it is he’s waiting for.

The moment passes. Keith presses his face against Shiro’s throat and breathes in. “I could, too. Be with you forever, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, voice soft and far away, but unspeakably fond.

Shiro can’t deny his heart aches, holding Keith like this. But it also feels good, better than anything he could have imagined. He holds Keith close and it feels like it was always meant to be this way. It’s comforting just to hold him, to feel the ghost of Keith’s breath against his shoulder. Shiro feels comfortable. Safe. Known.

“Sleep, Shiro,” Keith whispers, lips ghosting across Shiro’s skin.

It’s fine. Friends can do this and it’s fine. If he can help Keith, then that’s good.

Shiro holds Keith tighter. He closes his eyes, happy and relaxed. He sleeps.


	8. Chapter 8

Shiro cringes awake when he feels his leg knot up. He tries to muffle the hiss, and maybe weeks ago, at the start of their journey, he could have gotten away with it without waking Keith up. But they’re too pressed up against one another now, so Keith wakes instantly with a groggy little trill.

“Shiro?” he croaks, voice soft in the dark. Shiro sees the moment his eyes blink open because of the soft glow of them.

Shiro shakes his head apologetically, but even that hurts. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Like hell,” Keith grumbles, which is entirely too endearing. Shiro would laugh if he didn’t fear the ache that would ripple down his body. Keith presses his face down against Shiro’s chest, heaving in a breath before he sits up and squints at Shiro in the dark.

His hand touches Shiro’s face, brushing the hair from his eyes. Keith studies him and Shiro wonders what he sees with the superior Galran eyesight. If he can see all the ways Shiro feels useless and fatigued.

“What’s wrong?”

Shiro sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch of Keith’s hand. “Combination of muscle pain and nightmare. What else is new?”

The words come out more bitter than he intends. Keith makes a distressed sound, his thumb ghosting across Shiro’s cheek in a way that’s both grounding and skyrocketing. Shiro feels his heart start to hammer away in his chest.

“Can I help?” Keith asks, hand skimming across Shiro’s jaw as it pulls away. He grabs the blankets and scoots them off Shiro’s sleep-warmed body. The night air in their flyer feels too chilled and Shiro shivers, blinking his eyes open to look up at Keith.

“My leg,” Shiro says and Keith nods, scooting down the bed. He kicks the blankets to the floor. Shiro thinks he hears the wolf give a deep, heaving breath as he’s disturbed from his own sleep, a blanket landing on his head.

Shiro shifts a bit at Keith’s guidance, the movements slow and jerky. Keith’s hands touch his knees and he kneels between Shiro’s shins.

It’s only then that Shiro’s sleepy brain connects the image of it: Keith, sitting there between his legs, his hands on his knees. He frowns down at Shiro’s legs covered in his sleep pants. Shiro swallows, knowing what Keith’s about to ask and wonders if he’s strong enough for it.

“It’s okay,” he says before Keith can ask the question.

Keith glances up at him, a still shape in the dark save for the glowing purple of his eyes. Then he looks down again and slides his hands up Shiro’s thighs. Shiro uses his one hand to help ease the sleep pants off. It’s a slow-moving process, Shiro’s legs too seized up to move much.

It’s embarrassing, really, although Shiro knows that Keith will never look down on him for this. Shiro knows, too, that he’ll only ever be able to share this with Keith. Keith bundles up his pajama bottoms and sets them down at the foot of their bunk.

Shiro’s not sure how long they stay like that, silent. But eventually, Shiro’s eyes adjust to the dark and he can make out Keith’s face, all dimmed with sharp edges.

When his hands touch Shiro again, it’s bare skin on skin, his palm cupping Shiro’s kneecap. Keith waits, seeming to hold himself still. Shiro watches him take a breath as his hand slides up across the flat expanse of Shiro’s thigh.

Shiro swallows. The pain springs to life anew at the touch but he forces himself to stay relaxed. The ache in his body prevents him from truly appreciating how pretty Keith’s hand looks against his thigh, how small but powerful.

Keith shifts and presses both hands against his thigh, digging in. Shiro sucks in a breath and Keith stops, looking up at him.

“Is that okay?”

Shiro nods. “Yeah. I just… I need to make it release.”

Keith nods and sets to work. It’s just like the day Keith shut the gravity off and massaged his wrist after they left Olkarion. Only now, Keith scoots up their bed to settle properly between Shiro’s parted legs, digging his thumbs deep into the meat of Shiro’s thigh, working at the knotted up muscle.

It’s painful, nothing pleasant about it, but there’s something charged in the way Keith sits like that, like he belongs there. And he is welcomed. Shiro’s body trembles beneath Keith’s hands, aching for some relief.

“Harder,” Shiro says, voice cracking. “You’ll have to dig in harder.”

“Okay,” Keith whispers and does just that, digging down deep. He kneads into Shiro’s thigh.

Shiro hisses out a breath as Keith works, but it does help. Otherwise, they’re silent. Keith presses down deep until finally the knotted muscle starts to relax. There’s still pinpricks of pain, but it’s better.

Really, Keith doesn’t have to be the one to do this. Shiro could do it himself— but there’s something easing about knowing he can trust Keith with this, that when their eyes meet, Keith knows to move silently to the other thigh and do the same thing, kneading and massaging until it, too, eases beneath his palms.

Keith’s touch is like magic. Shiro’s heart is still pounding and he has to remind himself to release the tension in his shoulders, but Keith is determined. He dives headfirst into all things, Shiro has always known that, and he knows, too, that Keith would never accept Shiro doing this on his own.

Once he’s finished, Keith’s hands rest on both of Shiro’s thighs, smoothing up and down, as if testing to make sure the muscles really have gone pliant. Shiro keeps his head tipped down, praying the blush doesn’t show on his cheeks in the dark. He watches the sweeping movement of Keith’s hands.

If anything, he’s grateful for the pain. It’s the only thing that’s keeping him from going half-hard from their position, from having Keith’s hands on him.

Keith takes a break and says, “Maybe…”

“Yes?”

Keith ducks his head, voice quiet. He takes a moment and then shakes his head. He clears his throat and says, “Maybe next time we pitstop, we should look into some sort of healing salves or something. At least something to make the… the glide easier?”

“Oh,” Shiro says, hushed. He blushes deeper. “I don’t— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Keith grumbles and turns, plucking up Shiro’s pajama pants and helping ease them back on. Shiro has more mobility now, able to bend his knees a bit more and lift his hips. Keith’s hands are gentle on him, lingering at his hips once the elastic band snaps back into place.

“I know,” Shiro says faintly. “I just… You know I appreciate it. But I don’t want you to think you have to.”

Keith rolls his eyes. Shiro can see it even in the dark. He pats Shiro’s stomach and then pulls away. He climbs over one of Shiro’s thighs and stretches back out again onto his side, staring at Shiro when he says, “I’ll buy some healing cream for us next time we’re at the space mall.”

It’s such an absurd statement that Shiro almost wants to laugh. The pain still sings through his body, but it’s better. He reaches his hand out and settles it gently on Keith’s side, turning a little to face Keith.

Keith’s hand ghosts across Shiro’s and up, curling loosely around his wrist. “Is there anywhere else I can help?”

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

Keith frowns at him, looking guilty. “Was it the water?”

“Maybe,” Shiro says. “I don’t know. Sometimes there’s no trigger for it. It just… happens. Better than it was before, but…”

Keith’s fingertips trail across the tendons of his wrist, tracing up and down. It’s a soothing, centering gesture. Shiro breathes out.

“I’m sorry you’re still in pain,” Keith says.

Shiro smiles. “It’s alright. It really is better than it was.”

It used to be ceaseless; Shiro spent his whole life in chronic pain, learning to live with it and push through it. Sometimes, the bracers had to stimulate his muscles, but mostly it was just a never-ending, dull ache that permeated his every movement, his every breath.

It’s a shadow of that, now. There are still the aches and pains, the flare-ups that linger even with the core illness cured.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep again?” Keith asks.

Shiro huffs a breath and shakes his head. “No. I think that’s it for me tonight. Good morning to me.”

Keith twists around, squinting into the dark. It’s impossible to tell the hour by light; there aren’t any viewports in the living quarters and it’s not as if either of them know this planet’s typical solar-cycle.

Keith grumbles as he fishes out a PADD from one of the compartments and then makes a low growly sound when the light blinds him and he slams his eyes shut.

“Okay,” Keith says. “Lights up.”

“Keith— no, it’s okay, you should sleep.”

But it’s too late. The lights come up and aside from the wolf giving them a scandalized look at the sudden light in the room, it mimics a morning sunrise perfectly. It’s a slow swelling, the lights growing brighter and warmer as their eyes adjust.

Keith sits up and stretches until his back pops. “I’m taking a shower. Then we can see about breakfast and packing up for Anterrilyn.”

“Keith…”

Keith hops over Shiro to land on the floor, just narrowly avoiding hitting the wolf. He squats down to scrub his hands through his fur and cuddles up to him apologetically. The wolf accepts it all with all the dignity he can muster.

Shiro manages to roll onto his side to watch the two of them, his eyes soft as the wolf licks Keith’s face and then snaps two blankets into his mouth and moves over to the far corner away from all the activity. There, he cuddles up into a tight ball and goes back to sleep with a huffy little sigh.

Keith throws a grin at Shiro. “Rejected.”

“Guess he’s not a morning person,” Shiro says.

“Truthfully, I think he regrets tagging along,” Keith says. “The ship’s not quite big enough for him.” He puts his hands on his hips and smiles at Shiro, just a touch shy. “Guess we’ll need to build a bigger one for next time, huh?”

Shiro’s heart leaps. But instead of twisting up anxiously in his chest, he manages to give a little laugh. Keith’s expression softens and he reaches his hand out again, brushing the hair away from Shiro’s face.

“You going to be okay if I go shower?”

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro promises. “I might try to go through my morning sets.”

Keith tuts. He tugs on the forelock of Shiro’s hair. “Don’t push yourself if it hurts.”

Shiro chuckles and knocks Keith’s hand away affectionately. He manages to sit up without cringing and without Keith’s assistance— although he knows he’s ready to swoop in at any moment— and nods.

“Yeah, I know. Go shower.”

Keith nods and turns. But he hesitates there, hovering just on the heel of his foot, and then swings back towards Shiro. Shiro doesn’t have time to prepare for when Keith ducks in and kisses his cheek, just a bare ghost of a touch before he’s retreating again.

“Be right back,” he says in a rush. Shiro catches sight of his pink ears just before the bathroom door shuts behind him.

Shiro touches the spot where Keith’s lips pressed. It’s true he’d kissed Keith’s forehead last night and Keith kissed his cheek in turn, but he hadn’t realized it’d now be a thing. Then again, he reasons— they’ve always been tactile with one another. And, really, Shiro is selfish: he’ll never reject an opportunity to have Keith near like this.

His cheeks heat up to a deep red as he hears the shower’s water flip on. He tries not to imagine Keith stripping down naked just on the other side of that door.

It takes a few minutes for Shiro to summon up the strength to pull himself out of bed and drop to the floor. His legs still feel too tight, so he starts with his morning crunches rather than the usual push-ups, focusing on his core.

He keeps time to the sound of the water from Keith’s shower, focusing on the sound of it and not the mental image of Keith naked beneath the stream. But it’s a failing battle, the only sounds in the room that water and the wolf occasionally snoring in the corner.

Shiro manages one set and then has to pause, feeling breathless. And not just because of the exercise. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces himself to breathe.

“Okay,” he sighs, and tucks his arms behind his head, starting again. The more he moves, the looser his body becomes. The pain doesn’t quite fade but it does dull a bit, becoming something that pulses in the back of his mind but doesn’t interrupt anything else.

He’s just finished a set when he hears the water shut off. Shiro barely has time to mentally prepare before Keith steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Shiro shifts his eyes to stare at his own bent knees, arms still tucked behind his head. His fingers lace together and even that action feels oddly painful.

Keith tosses his clothes into their growing pile of dirty laundry, tucked in one of the spare corners. His hair hangs loose and damp near his shoulders and he chews on his bottom lip as he surveys the clothing supply and the massive bundle of freshly laundered clothing from the space laundromat that they still haven’t properly unpacked.

Keith turns back towards Shiro and asks, “How are you feeling?”

Shiro grunts. He sits up fully and, with some effort, folds his legs under him. It puts him at eye-level with Keith’s stomach and his belly button. Shiro can’t complain— Keith’s belly button was adorable at the fire festival and it’s adorable now. Shiro watches a droplet of water cascade down Keith’s flat stomach and wants to lick it.

“Better,” Shiro finally remembers to say. He swallows around the graveled out sound of his voice, hoping he can dismiss it as mere sleepiness and not a strangled sort of want swirling in the pit of his stomach, staring at Keith with his dripping hair and his small waist.

Keith nods, satisfied, pushing his wet hair away from his face. He scratches his chin, fingertips skimming over his jaw and touching once at his scar before dropping away.

“Do you want to keep resting?”

Shiro shakes his head, using the bunk to hoist himself up onto his feet. “If I lay still, it just makes it worse. It’ll get easier the more I move. Eventually I’ll loosen up.”

Keith nods, taking a step towards him. He drags his eyes down over Shiro’s body, assessing, and Shiro can’t help but wonder what he sees. He swallows once, his heart a hummingbird in his chest. Keith reaches out to take Shiro’s hand, turning it over to examine the tendons of his wrist, the sweeping line up towards his bicep.

“I’m okay, Keith,” Shiro says gently. “I feel much better already, thanks to you.”

Keith nods, his expression going delicate at the edges as he sighs. He ducks his head, his hair obscuring his face for just a moment as he stares down at their hands.

“I just… I wish I could do more for you,” Keith confesses. “That’s all.”

“You have no idea how much you’ve done for me,” Shiro says, voice soft to match Keith’s. He slides his hand into Keith’s properly, squeezing his fingers. It’d be so easy to stay like that, to tangle their hands together entirely.

To just be. It’s something Keith’s told him before, what feels forever ago now: they should just be. Whatever it is that they are, they can just be that.

Shiro knows the trajectory of his life, knows what the universe is like with Keith in it. He might not know what he’s going to do with the rest of his life, what his place in the universe is, ultimately, but he likes the idea of simply existing in this space with Keith. There’s something wonderful about not worrying about the past or the future, but existing in the moment. Together.

Keith’s fingers look so small folded with Shiro’s. He sees Keith smile, his free hand lifting to tuck a wayward piece of hair behind his ear. Shiro wants to kiss his scar. He wants to kiss his jaw, mouth down his neck. He wants to pull Keith into his arms and let the towel fall away between them.

Shiro smiles. “Maybe we should walk around outside. Find something to eat and go from there?”

Keith hums and nods. He squeezes Shiro’s hand and lets go, turning back towards their clothes. “Sounds good, Shiro.”

Shiro watches Keith pick through the clean laundry folded up in the drawers still— a collection of Keith’s overabundance of pants and the three shirts he packed for himself but still has yet to wear. Keith kneels down to dig through the laundry bag from the laundromat and plucks out one of his favored pairs of leggings and one of Shiro’s shirts.

Shiro turns away to give Keith some privacy, retreating into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He will always find the green water overly disconcerting, but the routine of the habits provide him some mindfulness: he focuses on the sensation of the water on his face, the scrub of the soap against his fingertips, the bright burst of mint from the toothpaste.

While Shiro retreats from the bathroom to also dress for the day, Keith finishes dressing and cuddles up in the massive bulk of the wolf’s body. The wolf gives Keith his usual puppy eyes, head in his lap and staring up at him.

Shiro chuckles, catching Keith’s overly fond smile out of the corner of his eye as he gives the wolf some much-needed attention. Shiro, meanwhile, dresses and, with only some aching struggle, toes into his boots.

“Ready,” he announces. Keith nods and slings a spare bag over his shoulder for anything they manage to forage.

They both curl around the wolf and with an easy flicker, the three of them disappear from LP and reappear on the soft, spongy moss-ground of the planet.

It’s different in daylight— less glowing but still strangely ethereal. Even with the massive expanse of water, it doesn’t feel like a beach but like stumbling upon a still pond in the middle of a forest. The world seems to breathe around them, the very ground itself rising to meet their springy footsteps and bouncing them along. Everything feels damp, but not in an unpleasant way.

Shiro stares down at the water, remembering last night— diving in after Keith, holding him, wanting so desperately to kiss him.

Keith’s arm is gentle when it loops through with Shiro’s and he waits for Shiro to turn his head before he asks, “Want to just walk?”

Shiro smiles and nods. They hike around, although not as distant or determined as they were on Olkarion or even on T’vinb. It’s more a stroll, letting the natural paths in the moss and foliage guide them. The wolf trots ahead of them, tail flicking back and forth as he sniffs and explores. He glows just like the water, standing out in the muted green of the forest.

“He didn’t like the way T’vinb smelled,” Keith tells him, laughing. “So I think he definitely likes this better.”

“He didn’t?” Shiro asks.

“He doesn’t like sweet-smelling things,” Keith says and together they watch the wolf dart into some underbrush, chasing after a birdlike creature with an excited yip. But it’s hard for Shiro to focus on that because at about the same time, Keith drifts closer and rests his head gently on Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro slows his pace until they come to a natural stop together. It feels effortless, the way Keith holds himself purposefully in Shiro’s space, how neatly their arms loop together. Shiro can just as easily picture the two of them walking through this underbrush holding hands. Can just as easily picture turning to Keith and kissing him.

He’d sort of hoped that thought would disappear once he climbed out of the water. But it seems that now that he’s thought it, he’s not about to stop thinking about it.

Shiro thought he was used to longing. It’s what he’s told himself so many times before. He’s used to wanting Keith. He’s used to loving Keith. He’s used to knowing it’s never going to be anything but that.

And now his traitorous mind tortures him with what _could_ be. They ran away together to explore the universe. It’s _romantic._ Nobody touches him the way Keith does. Nobody else touches him at all, really. And he knows it’s the same for Keith.

 _Brother,_ he reminds himself and lets out a long-held breath.

Keith makes a thoughtful sound beside him and when Shiro turns his head, he finds Keith already looking at him. Before Shiro can put voice to anything, though, the wolf reappears at their side with a flicker of bright ozone light.

He has what appears to be apples clutched between his teeth. He dutifully drops them into Keith’s hand, waiting for Keith to unhook himself from around Shiro and hold his palms out to the wolf. Keith frowns thoughtfully, weighing the apples in his hand, and gives a pleased hum.

“I’ll run scans once we’re back on LP, but I bet we can eat these,” Keith says. “It’ll be nice to have something fresh now that we’ve run out of those melon-potatoes.” His hands are full so he can’t pet the wolf, so he settles for nuzzling his face straight into the top of the wolf’s head, cooing. “Good find, buddy!”

The wolf looks up at Shiro, puppy eyes and all. With two free hands at his disposal, Shiro is helpless but to obey the plea: he chuckles and scrubs both his hands through the wolf’s fur, ruffling him up.

“Good job,” he tells the wolf. The wolf’s tail flicks happily and he butts his head up hard into Shiro’s hands, demanding more praise. Shiro is all too happy to give it to him— he coos and gushes over the wolf, petting him vigorously while Keith chuckles beside them both, tucking the apples into the bag slung over his chest.

Keith’s expression is soft when Shiro looks up at him again. He shakes his head when Shiro hums in question.

“Nothing,” Keith says, smiling. “Just. You’re— you. Um, he’s cute. When he does that.”

Shiro grins at him. “He’s _very_ cute.” He turns back to the wolf and says with all the weight he can muster: “And you know it, too, don’t you?”

The wolf yips and shoves his nose against Shiro’s palm. Shiro laughs and scratches his ears. Encouraged, the wolf darts back off into the underbrush, determined to find more food for them.

Keith’s still looking at Shiro with that soft expression on his face. Embarrassed, Shiro laughs and offers his arm. It makes Keith snort, but he reaches out for him, anyway. Together, they keep walking.

“This place more your speed?” Shiro asks after a few minutes of walking. “Less people you need to deal with.”

Keith laughs, shaking his head. “I know my boots are water-resistant, but I feel like I have soggy feet from this place.” He wrinkles his nose. “But… yeah. It’s okay.” He looks up at Shiro, eyes bright. “I’d go anywhere with you. But you know that.”

“I do,” Shiro agrees, patting Keith’s hand. He feels all squirmy inside, but his voice stays even when he says, “Me too.”

They move slowly through the moss, doing a lap of the island. Grand total, it takes them less than a varga to circle its circumference, pausing occasionally when the wolf brings them more food for them to double-check. They have a collection of the maybe-apples and something that looks like cilantro but smells pungent like sandalwood. There’s some bark that Shiro suspects won’t be edible and a few tuber-looking roots that Keith tucks away into the bag.

By the time they get back to LP, Keith’s bag is full of potential breakfast and Shiro’s grateful for that little bit of greenery. Food goo and shelf-stable foods can only last them so long before he starts to feel a little stir-crazy.

Keith rubs Shiro’s back as they pause on an outcropping of rock just beyond LP, watching the water. “How are you feeling?” He cringes a little and adds, “I hope I don’t sound condescending.”

“You don’t,” Shiro tells him, reassuring, and leans into the touch of his hand. He closes his eyes, centering himself on the feeling of Keith’s hand across his spine. “Seriously, Keith. Thank you. You…” He sighs. “You do too much for me.”

“I do enough for you,” Keith says, “and everything I do, I know you’d do for me, too.” His hand pauses just on the back of Shiro’s neck, squeezing gently in an approximation of a massage. “That’s what friends do, Shiro.”

Shiro laughs softly, ducking his head as Keith starts to knead at the back of his neck. It feels good, too good. All that desire he left simmering when Keith touched his thighs this morning rushes back at the stroke of Keith’s hand, those callused, sure fingers dragging over his sensitive skin.

“The second you want a massage, tell me,” Shiro says with a blissful sigh. “I’ll do your whole body.”

Keith laughs, light and a little choking, and he squeezes Shiro’s neck. “I’ll hold you to that. About time LP’s captain got some perks.”

Shiro laughs, the sound bursting out of him, and he looks over his shoulder to grin stupidly at Keith. Keith’s answering grin is just as wide and goofy.

Keith pats the back of Shiro’s neck and then his cheek, smile softening. “Come on. I’m hungry and I want coffee. And we have a date with your green lava.”

-

They run their scans on the food the wolf found; Shiro was right in guessing the bark wouldn’t be compatible for Human or Galran physiology, but the rest gets the seal of approval from the life-support systems.

Once back inside, everything smells mossy, that strange smell of peat stuck to their boots and to the not apples. Shiro rolls them around the counter, examining them. They’re round and golden, although their leaves are five-pronged and the skin is textured like plum skin. The space-cilantro has a slight purple twinge, the sandalwood scent less strong in the face of all the moss.

He’s unsure if the space-cilantro will be suitable for any sort of breakfast, especially with apples. Then again, they do have some cans of beans, so maybe the cilantro can be some sort of breakfast burrito situation. Shiro doesn’t tend to be daring in the kitchen— whatever works, works— but he knows that Keith likes to try new things if he gets the chance.

As Shiro cleans the food and stocks it away, Keith starts the coffee. Soon, their living quarters smells like that deep, rich scent of roasted coffee beans. Shiro inhales deeply, feeling the last tension in his muscles ease away with the comforting scent. It smells like home, like mornings spent waking up.

The sappy part of him knows he’d spend the rest of his life happily waking up to this scent, his arms curled around Keith as they cuddle in bed together.

Keith fits the image of a lazy Sunday morning. His hair’s air-dried from the shower, but looks fluffy and disarrayed, curled all around him. Shiro’s shirt slips off his one shoulder, and he looks content as he rests against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

He looks like he’s just been fucked. And it’s a horrible thought for Shiro to have. But he does and it’s there, invading his thoughts.

Shiro can’t fight his imagination on that one— how good Keith would look above him or beneath him, how sweetly they’d fall into one another. How good it’d feel to wake up in the morning and be able to really hold Keith, to kiss the slim column of his neck. To see Keith wearing Shiro’s shirt and know it meant something.

Shiro lets himself sit with the image, staring at Keith in profile as he stares down at the coffee pot, his arms crossed, his hip poised against the counter. His leggings cling around his thighs and Shiro wants to kneel before him and lay worship to him, press a kiss to his belly button first and work his way down, pushing his own shirt up Keith’s chest and exposing him inch by inch.

Sleeping in the same bed as Keith on this trip will prove an issue if he keeps harboring these thoughts.

“Um,” Shiro says, squeaky. “Coffee?”

“Coffee,” Keith agrees, grinning, and plucks down a cup from the cupboard. He pours a generous portion for Shiro and slides it down.

Shiro takes it gratefully and nearly chugs it. It scalds the tip of his tongue, but it’s worth it to focus on that instead of the less-than-innocent images Keith in Shiro’s shirt conjures up.

“So, think we can find a way to use the peaches?”

“Peaches?”

Keith gestures with his mug towards the maybe-apples.

“Oh,” Shiro says. “I thought they looked like apples. Or something like it.”

“This fuzz? Definitely peach,” Keith says, rolling one of the apples-maybe-peaches with his fingertips, letting it dart and bump along the countertop. It stops once it hits the space-cilantro.

Shiro drinks his coffee, watching Keith as he works and settles at the galley, pulling down ingredients to make them a modest breakfast. Shiro focuses on the coffee so he doesn’t dwell on the pretty slope of Keith’s shoulders, or the way Shiro just itches to touch him.

Somehow, Shiro still feels that charge— like something’s changed since last night. Maybe it has. Maybe you can’t come back from seeing your best friend naked, swimming with him through glowing, healing water, and thinking, somehow, that you’ve missed a chance to kiss him.

Maybe that just changes things.

“Good coffee,” he says.

Keith casts him a fond smile, and that at least is familiar, the way it touches his eyes, the way his hair flicks across his cheeks and frames his jaw. How easy it’d be to slide closer to him, to cup his chin and tilt his face up, to press a good morning kiss to Keith’s lips.

Strange to think that maybe Keith would let him. 

That, maybe, he could tell Keith how he feels and maybe Keith would give him a chance. He can’t imagine just _casually_ dating Keith— forever, Keith is his forever, he thinks— but if they start slow, maybe Keith can get used to the idea of dating his best friend rather than simply seeing him as a brother.

Maybe, if he can just find the right moment to say something. His tongue burns when he takes a large gulp of his coffee. Keith glances at his cup and then passes the pot down so Shiro can refill.

He could kiss Keith right now. He wonders how Keith would react. If it’d be anger or if it’d be acceptance— Keith’s done so many things for him, too much for one person. Maybe this would just be one more sacrifice to make Shiro happy.

The thought is bitter. He looks away, sipping his coffee.

“Think I could make some eggs with this,” Keith says, picking up the cilantro. “And the peach-apples as part of lunch? Or like, some fruit salad kinda thing.”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees. “Want help?”

“Nah,” Keith says, already pulling out the necessary supplies. “I’m good. You relax.”

Shiro shrugs, takes his coffee, and retreats to the bunk of their quarters. He sips his coffee, sets it down, and starts running through his morning routine with his pushups now that his legs aren’t aching anymore. He gets through a few sets without incident, pausing between to rest and to drink his coffee.

He moves to the beat of Keith in the kitchen galley, cooking and humming to himself. Every time he glances at him, Keith’s eyes are on the cutting board as he chops up the food, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth.

His bare shoulder, exposed by Shiro’s shirt, still looks perfectly lickable. Shiro wants to curl around his back, spooning him, and kiss the back of his neck.

Maybe there was something in the water after all. Maybe it’s turned Shiro into a pervert.

He finishes his set with a groan and retreats to take a shower.

-

Shiro still hates the green water, but he feels more loose-limbed once he showers and redresses for the day. Keith finishes up their breakfast, tugging down the fold-up table at the end of the galley and setting their plates down.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Keith says with a grin as he pours the last of the coffee into Shiro’s cup.

“Starving,” Shiro says, plunking down into his seat. “This looks great, Keith.”

Keith beams at the praise, sitting across from him and hitching one knee up. Shiro likes that little quirk of Keith’s, how he seems fully incapable of sitting properly in any of the seats on the ship.

Shiro doesn’t even get the chance to eat his eggs before the wolf is shoving his face into his lap, staring up at him balefully.

“Your real name’s just Beggy, isn’t it?” Shiro croons, petting him under his chin.

The wolf licks his fingertips.

Keith nudges his foot out and shoves into the wolf’s side, pushing him forcefully away from Shiro. “Get out of here. I already fed you!”

The wolf swivels his head around to point his puppy eyes towards Keith, but Keith is unrelenting. Seeing it’s a useless battle, the wolf returns his attention to Shiro. Shiro pats him on the head.

“If you stop begging, maybe I’ll give you some of my leftovers,” Shiro tells him.

The wolf huffs, considers this, and then flops down at Shiro’s feet, tucking his head down. Shiro laughs and reaches down to pet him one last time. When Keith’s not looking, he slips the wolf his largest chunk of egg.

“After we eat, we’ll need to double-check the oxygen recycler and the water supply,” Keith says as Shiro digs into his food. Keith takes a long sip of his coffee and sighs, licking his lips. “I’m pretty sure we’ve parked long enough that we’ll be good to go.” He grins wide at Shiro. “Then we’re off to your lava pools.”

“After all this build up, I doubt it’s going to be as cool as the fire festival,” Shiro says with a laugh.

Keith shakes his head. “Don’t say that. It’ll be good.”

Then Keith takes one bite of his eggs and chokes, face twisting up.

“It’s good, Keith,” Shiro assures, already halfway through his plate. Whatever mix of spices Keith used to punch up the eggs, Shiro really likes it. The space-cilantro tastes a bit like Earth-cilantro, but earthier— like a weird combination of cilantro and beets. It’s very different from its smell. 

“No, I—” Keith grunts and then coughs. He picks up his fork again and takes a bite out of his eggs, his brow furrowing. He sets his fork back down again. He takes a long drink of his coffee.

Shiro tilts his head, confused.

Keith slaps a hand over his mouth and heaves, full-bodied, like he’s been punched right in the gut.

“Keith—”

And then Keith starts turning purple. Shiro drops his fork.

“Whoa—”

“I gotta,” Keith chokes, standing up with a shove against their little table. “I’m gonna be—”

He doesn’t complete the thought, already tripping over his feet as he stumbles towards the bathroom. Shiro’s already up, nearly kicking the wolf in the face in his pursuit after Keith. Keith shoves the bathroom door open and crashes onto his knees, hugging the toilet bowl and emptying into it.

It’s so abrupt, so unexpected, that Shiro has no idea what to do. He stumbles in after Keith and reaches his hands out, bundling Keith’s hair up at the nape of his neck and away from his face. Keith’s shoulders heave as he retches.

“Fuck,” Keith moans. “What the fuck—”

It’s over quickly, but even when Keith pulls his face up and wipes at his mouth, his skin is spotted purple. The spots are splotchy, peppering over his cheeks and down his neck. Keith looks flushed and miserable as he starts trembling, struggling to get back up on his feet.

“Keith, wait—” Shiro murmurs, still holding his hair back with one hand, his other hand moving to Keith’s hip to keep him steady.

Keith shakes his head, gripping the wall and getting to his feet with Shiro’s help. He spits into the sink and plucks the faucet open, gulping a mouthful of the green water, swishing it around, and spitting it back out again.

“I’m okay,” he croaks.

“Like hell you are!” Shiro says, his voice sounding strangled and slightly hysteric even to his own ears.

He’s already calculating their manual launch off-planet, how he’ll need to reboot the oxygen collection manifest and activate the override for safety protocols because he _needs_ to get Keith to the nearest populated colony and fast. His brow scrunches up as he runs through the checklist of what he needs to do and how he’s going to do it without letting Keith leave his sight.

He watches another purple spot bloom on Keith’s cheek.

“Keith,” Shiro says, alarmed. “We need to get to a— a space hospital or a—”

“No,” Keith interrupts, groaning, eyes clenching shut as he sways. Shiro holds him tight, steadying him. “I’m just— ugh. Okay. This is normal.”

“ _Normal?_ ”

“I mean, not normal-normal. But this has happened to me before. When I was with the Blades.”

Shiro hardly believes this can be _normal_ by any means, but Keith’s calm voice is enough to center him, however briefly.

Keith breathes out, leaning heavily into Shiro’s hold on him. “I tried eating Glormian Stillworm once and had this reaction. I’m allergic to— to something. And it’s gotta be in that cilantro, too. It’s the only new ingredient.”

“The hospital—”

“I’m fine,” Keith insists. “It’s just— allergies. I’m not going to die.”

Keith touches Shiro’s arm then, his fingers curling across his forearm. It’s a gentle touch but his hand is covered in the purple spots. Keith sighs and sways forward, pressing his face into Shiro’s chest and just breathing.

“I promise,” Keith says. “I wouldn’t lie about this. Not to you. I promise.”

Shiro blows out a long breath and then squeezes Keith tight. His face tips forward to bury in Keith’s hair. He holds him close, so tight.

More than anyone, he can understand the lack of eagerness to go to a hospital, space or otherwise. And more than anything, Shiro trusts Keith— trusts the words and trusts him to say otherwise. Everything within Shiro rebels against the idea, wanting something to be fixed immediately.

Shiro lets Keith sway against him, holding him for a long moment. Then, with a deep breath, he shifts his arms down and scoops Keith up. Keith squeaks once and then clings to Shiro, shivering as purple spots erupt down his arms.

Keith feels like he weighs nothing when Shiro sets him down, folding him up easily into the bed and tucking him beneath the blanket. He nearly falls over when the wolf shoves his way over to investigate, giving a low whine.

“Hey,” Keith mumbles, petting the wolf’s snout. “It’s okay, buddy. Why don’t you go get us more of those peaches, okay? No green stuff this time, though.”

The wolf whines, licking Keith’s hand, and Shiro can’t help but commiserate with the wolf. He feels like whining, too, hovering uselessly over Keith. He trusts Keith to know what he needs, but it’s alarming to see the sudden change, and to feel completely useless to help.

Shiro’s never been good at this.

The wolf licks Keith’s face and then flickers out of existence, exiting the ship to go foraging.

Shiro hovers, his hand straying to Keith’s forehead to feel for a fever. “I’ve never seen an allergic reaction like this.”

“Another one of my Galra Things,” Keith mutters darkly, eyes falling shut when Shiro touches him. “I forget what it’s called but… a few of the other Blades reacted to the worm like this, too.”

Shiro smooths Keith’s hair away from his forehead. “How can I help?”

“Just put me out of my goddamn misery,” Keith mutters, groaning.

Shiro brushes his fingers through his hair, lingering. When he retreats, it’s only for the few moments needed to toss their eggs and what’s left of the cilantro into the incinerator. He scrapes their plates clean and leaves them to wash up later. He’s quick to return to Keith’s side.

Keith gives him a faint smile when he feels Shiro’s shadow fall over him. He’s covered in those purple spots, sweat clinging to his forehead. But he doesn’t look like he’s about to fall over or be sick again.

For lack of anything better to do, Shiro adjusts the blanket around Keith and tucks him in again. That makes Keith’s smile grow, curving up at one corner.

“Mother hen,” Keith murmurs.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Keith says. “You should go double-check the stabilizers so we can take off this afternoon. Otherwise we won’t get to Anterrilyn on schedule.”

“Forget Anterrilyn,” Shiro insists, his hand cupping Keith’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you down here alone.”

“Shiro,” Keith groans. “I’m _fine_. It’s just allergies. It’ll clear up in a few vargas and I’ll be good as new. You don’t need to hover.”

Shiro snorts at the very thought of it and hoists himself up into their bunk without a word. “Would that work on you if I was the one sick?”

Keith groans but doesn’t say anything; they both know him denying it is impossible. Shiro doesn’t need to look any further than this morning, Keith waking up too early to keep Shiro company.

And that’s only one example.

“I don’t suppose you’ll give me that massage now?” Keith asks, chuckling.

Shiro settles on his side beside Keith, sure to leave him plenty of space on the bed. But Keith seems to dislike the positioning because he shoves himself backwards so that his back presses flush to Shiro’s chest. Spooned against him like that, Shiro drapes his arm over Keith, rubbing at his side gently in some vain hope that it might pacify him.

“I can,” Shiro says, his hand settling more purposefully against Keith’s ribs, feeling the swell of his lungs, the way Keith shivers beneath his palm. “If you really wanted.”

“No,” Keith sighs. “Later. When I can actually enjoy it and not feel miserable.”

“What can I do for you?” he asks again. “More blankets? Water?”

Keith shakes his head, pressing his face into the pillow. “I’m fine.”

“Keith.”

Oddly, Shiro feels fully out of his element. Shiro has never really had to care for anyone else like this before, and he spent his entire life pretending he was never hurting, never sick. He’d never let someone hover over him like this. He would much rather take care of it all himself.

Shiro mourns, suddenly, all the times he pretended to his parents that he was never hurting. How many times he refused their help at all, determined to suffer alone, never actually saying what he wanted. What he needed.

Now, he feels fully unprepared to help Keith. He’s afraid to lift his hand away from Keith’s body. He’s afraid to move at all.

“I can get up and—”

Keith groans like Shiro’s just wounded him personally. “Fuck.” He squirms back. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay,” Shiro whispers. “Okay. I’m here, Keith.”

“Mmf,” Keith moans and presses his face into the pillow, looking miserable. The purple spots continue down his neck and disappear beneath the hem of his shirt.

Shiro strokes Keith’s hair away from his face. Keith gives a low, growly trill and leans back further against Shiro, seeking the long line of his body. He presses flush back against Shiro. Only then does he seem to relax, sinking into the bed with a pathetic little sigh.

Shiro focuses on the feeling of Keith’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead. Keith keeps shivering in his arms.

They stay like that for a while, time slowing enough that Shiro doesn’t know how long he simply holds Keith. His heart pounds in his chest, hyper-aware of every breath and every move that Keith makes.

Shiro can’t recall ever seeing Keith sick. He’s seen him injured, seen him unhappy. But never ill. He’s not sure if it’s common for Keith or if it’s a consequence of the allergic reaction, but Keith just stays very quiet and very still.

He hardly moves once he settles. He looks like he barely breathes. Pressed against his back, Shiro can’t even feel the beat of Keith’s own heart over the pounding of Shiro’s own.

He hates it. He hates holding Keith like this and not being able to see him breathing. He feels too still in his arms, like a statue. Too cold.

Shiro finds himself holding his breath, only releasing it when he sees the slightest shift of Keith’s shoulders as he breathes out. Shiro tries to breathe with him, tries to time it so their breaths move in tandem.

He tries to focus on that, on just holding Keith. But it’s too much. He lets his hand drift up over Keith’s side and slide over his chest. He settles it just above where his heart beats, seeking the steadiness of it beneath his palm.

It’s instinctive. He doesn’t even fully realize he’s doing it until it’s done.

Keith, of course, notices it, too. He seems to jar out of the lost well of his thoughts, blinking his eyes open and tipping his chin down as if to confirm the hand’s presence. He lets out a low sound, biting his purple-stained lips. Then he tilts his head back to look at Shiro over his shoulder.

His eyes have bled Galra yellow, the pupils slivered into their familiar slit. He looks at Shiro for a long moment, studying him, and when he speaks, his voice is groggy: “Wouldn’t it be fucked up if we went through all this bullshit together and it’s _cilantro_ that kills me?”

Shiro’s brow pinches. “Dark humor is my thing, Keith. That’s not funny.”

He doesn’t mean for his voice to waver at the thought of it, and yet there it is. He doesn’t like holding Keith like this and feeling how still he is. The thought of Keith dying here, like this, over something so small, so random— it makes Shiro’s heart squeeze tight in his chest.

He presses his hand down harder against Keith’s chest, feeling that familiar pound of Keith’s heart. It feels like it kicks up in Keith’s chest when Shiro does that, too, which Shiro isn’t sure is a good sign or not.

Keith looks a little breathless, staring at Shiro. Shiro feels like he’s getting lost in Keith’s eyes, like they’re falling through a waterfall of stars.

“In any case,” Shiro says, rubbing over Keith’s chest and trying to keep his tone lighter. “Please don’t die.” His voice sounds too flat. Weakly, he adds, “I’d be really sad.”

He knows that despite his efforts, his concern bleeds into his voice. Keith’s eyes are dark and molten, staring straight into Shiro’s soul. Shiro swallows thickly.

Keith turns his face and shoves it down into the pillow with a weak whimper.

“I’m never looking to die,” Keith mumbles into it, voice thready. “Should clarify that.”

“Guess that’s my job.”

“ _That’s_ not funny,” Keith hisses, barely heard over the muffling of the pillow.

Shiro lifts his hand, brushing at Keith’s hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Keith grunts, stilling, and then rolls over onto his back. Shiro shifts away, enough to make space, and sits up even as Keith’s hand whips out to cup Shiro’s hip, keeping him from leaving completely. Keith props his head up on his pillow, looking spotty and miserable, and stares up at Shiro with his big eyes. He still looks moody, that tie between miserably sick and distressed by Shiro’s bad joke.

Shiro hesitates, adjusting the blanket for Keith before returning his hand to his chest, letting it rest over the steady pound of his heart.

He shouldn’t feel so uncentered just because Keith’s sick.

“Thankfully, I don’t plan on dying again any time soon,” Shiro says, not quite a joke but not quite serious, either. Keith frowns up at him, a low trill twisting up his throat. Shiro rubs his chest absently. “And despite everything, you haven’t had any near-misses, right?”

He laughs, but Keith doesn’t join in. He bites his lip, his canines pointed enough to be almost fangs.

“Sorry,” Shiro says again. “Another bad joke.”

They settle into that quiet again. Shiro rubs Keith’s chest, watching the rise and fall of his breathing with a critical eye. Despite the allergic reaction, his airways don’t seem constricted at all.

He brushes his hand down and tentatively pushes Keith’s shirt up over his stomach and chest, exposing the flat expanse of his torso. Covered in spots, as Shiro feared, but otherwise fine.

“Feels nice,” Keith murmurs when Shiro presses his hand to his belly, feeling the flush of his skin. He feels clammy here, too, and Shiro takes the silent invitation, rubbing his hand up and down over Keith’s chest.

Keith closes his eyes, focusing just on breathing. Shiro bites his lip, hoping he’s soothing, hoping he’s doing _something._ Suddenly he really does wish they had some sort of healing salve like Keith mentioned this morning. Something. Anything.

“What helped you last time?” Shiro asks. “When this happened?”

“Nothing, really,” Keith says with a shake of his head. “Blades saved medicine for emergencies, not things like this.” He breathes in and back out again. “I just had to let it pass.”

Shiro makes a sound, distressed even if belatedly thinking of Keith on his own, suffering through this. Well, not entirely alone, he reminds himself. Keith would have had his brothers-in-arms. He can only hope that there was someone there to care for Keith, to look after him.

He feels Keith’s heartbeat beneath his palm.

“… There’s something I should tell you,” Keith murmurs after a pause.

“Mm?” Shiro prompts, his fingers tracing over the sharp line of Keith’s collarbone next, feeling the dip of his clavicle.

Keith’s eyelids dip, watching the movement of Shiro’s hand beneath where his shirt’s bunched up. Shiro watches it, too, the drag of his fingertips down the dip between Keith’s pecs and down further, tracing over his solar plexus.

Keith takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I was never looking to die,” Keith says again, not looking up at Shiro.

Shiro stills. He can’t help himself. His eyes flicker up to look at Keith, alarmed.

Keith swallows. “Growing up, all I ever heard about my dad, again and again, was how he was a hero for sacrificing himself to help others. That’s what heroes do, right? Sacrifice themselves for others.”

Keith pauses there and Shiro nods a little, cautious. He rubs at Keith’s chest and Keith lets out a little rattling breath, closing his eyes and relaxing beneath Shiro’s touch, sinking down against the mattress.

“I hated him for it, though,” Keith says, and looks like the whispered confession physically pains him. His voice sounds scratchy, his brow pinching as he forces the words out. He doesn’t open his eyes, but Shiro can guess at how glassy Keith’s eyes would be if he did. Keith swallows again, his voice breaking on the next words. “I missed him so _much_ , but I hated him for leaving me behind. He was a _hero_ and I hated it.”

“Keith,” Shiro says in a low murmur.

“They said it about you, too,” Keith continues. “Kerberos. Voltron. Didn’t matter. Everyone said you were a hero, that you couldn’t be replaced.”

Shiro’s fingers curl against Keith’s chest. His own heart withers inside him, beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“… Did you hate me, too?” he asks, moving to withdraw his hand.

Keith’s fingers close around Shiro’s wrist, keeping him there. “No,” he says, his answer immediate. “I could never.”

“Keith…”

“And I knew you were out there. I knew I was going to find you.”

Shiro can’t help his smile in response. “Sounds like you.”

Keith’s mouth hints a smile, too. When he finally opens his eyes, it’s only to look up at Shiro. His hand rests against Shiro’s hip, curled tight against the sharp jut of the bone. He takes a deep breath, his chest swelling against Shiro’s hand.

“I hated the way everyone talked about it,” Keith says and squeezes Shiro’s hip. “But then… I ended up just like that, too.”

Shiro waits, but Keith’s staring into his eyes. Shiro almost fears the answer. “What do you mean?”

“That to do good, you have to be willing to sacrifice yourself,” Keith says. His hands flex and he sighs, lifting both to scrub at his face. The words don’t come easily after that. Shiro watches Keith waffle, struggling with what he’s not saying.

Shiro swallows again, his throat clicking, unsure what it is that Keith’s leading up to. When Keith stills again, holding himself in a wretched line, Shiro leans in closer, his hand rubbing over his chest and collarbone, fingertips glancing just at the base of his throat.

“Keith,” he whispers.

He waits until Keith drops his hands away from his face and looks up at him.

“Whatever you want to tell me, Keith,” Shiro says, “I’m listening. It’s okay.”

“Ha,” Keith breathes, and then nods.

His thumb skirts down his cheek, tracing his scar nervously. After that, he lets his hands rest on his pillow, palms up on either side of his head. He looks vulnerable like that, all spotted and sick and just staring up at Shiro.

“Shiro,” Keith begins. “It’s— it’s really difficult. For me to, um… It’s…”

He groans, frustrated, and closes his eyes. He throws a hand over his face after that, blocking his eyes from view.

Shiro waits, silent, and presses his hand down on Keith’s chest. He feels the rattle of his breath beneath his palm.

“I… Before I met you,” Keith finally settles on, “I didn’t think I mattered at all.”

“Keith, of course you—”

“Yeah,” Keith interrupts gently, pressing one hand down against Shiro’s. It’s hot to the touch, just a little clammy, but Shiro doesn’t flinch away. Keith’s hand is so slim and so slight, settling against Shiro’s. “I know, Shiro. I know.”

Keith smiles up at him gently. After a pause, Shiro smiles back, although it’s a tentative thing. He can’t imagine what it is that Keith’s working his way up to saying— but knows it’s important. That, somehow, Shiro’s missed something. Something important.

“Some days I still don’t believe it,” Keith admits. “But… Sometimes, I really know the ways I’m like my dad. I hate it about myself sometimes— that my first instinct is to give everything to the cause, you know?”

Shiro nods, uncertain, and turns his hand on Keith’s chest so it’s palm up— so that their palms press together where Keith’s hand still rests. Slowly, their fingers intertwine. Shiro gives Keith a little squeeze and sighs when Keith squeezes back.

“I had to learn I was worthwhile,” Keith says. “And… And you helped me.”

Shiro nods. He holds Keith’s hand tight. “You were always worthwhile, Keith.”

“Maybe,” Keith says, laughing. A pained and brittle sound. “I don’t know… I don’t know how much you remember from— If you remember Naxela.”

Keith’s hand grips Shiro’s tight, tighter than before, his knuckles turning white. Shiro takes a deep breath before he answers.

“Yeah. I remember.”

Keith sounds strangely calm now when he says, “I almost died.” But he doesn’t even give Shiro a chance to react to that, the words tumbling out of him now that he’s said it. “I was going to throw myself against the barrier. I thought it might work to save everyone. It wouldn’t have, I know now. I’d have died for no reason. But I was going to do it. Because that’s the Blades’ way.”

“Keith—”

Ice runs down Shiro’s spine. He doesn’t know what to say, the sound of Keith’s name choking off in his throat. He’s washed over with the cold certainty that can only follow a fact too late: something real that happened and he could have done nothing to stop.

He’s seized, so suddenly, with the thought that he’d almost lost Keith. That they could have all lost Keith and he wouldn’t have realized in the moment.

That entire time— after getting stuck in Black, after being cloned, after his memories combining and mixing together again— is mostly fuzzy, distant and dizzy. He can remember the day at Naxela, all those battles, all that fear.

He could have lost Keith.

“You never— you never _said_ —”

“I know,” Keith says. “I spent a long time thinking about that day. What I almost did. How it wouldn’t have _mattered_. How people could have called me a hero for the cause and I’d still just be— gone.”

Shiro makes a sound— it punches out of him before he’s even fully aware he’s doing it. He reaches for Keith then, yanking him upright and then hugging him tight. Clinging, really. It’s instinctive, too, done before he can second-guess it. He just needs Keith in his arms.

He just needs to feel him breathing.

And he does hear Keith give a deep breath, surprised, just before he hugs Shiro back. He presses his face up against Shiro’s neck, just breathing him in, too.

Somehow, it helps to hold Keith like this. To affirm that he’s here, that he’s alive, that he hasn’t been lost. He feels Keith’s breath ghosting against his neck, the beat of his heart where their chests are pressed together, the strength of Keith’s arms as he wraps around Shiro’s shoulders and clings.

“Sorry,” Keith whispers.

Shiro shakes his head and squeezes him tight. “Keith,” Shiro murmurs. “The—” He chokes, biting back a swell of emotion in his chest. He closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath. “The universe would be far too empty without you in it.”

It’s inadequate. It isn’t what he wants to say. He wants to scream at the universe. He wants to scream at the man he was, back then, for never realizing. He wants to go back to that day and find Keith, hold him close, and protect him.

He knows there’s been too many near-misses. All of them have fought to hell and back to bring the universe to peace. He can’t count the number of times they’ve nearly lost each other, all of them.

Really, Shiro’s already died. More than once.

And yet, he’s never let himself even consider the possibility that Keith might die. That, someday, he might turn around and Keith wouldn’t be there.

The words, though, leave Keith breathless. He gasps a little against Shiro’s neck, his hands going slack against his spine before he tightens his hold— firmer, affirming that Shiro’s there with him, too.

They hold each other.

“It _was_ too empty without you,” Keith agrees, his voice breaking on the words. He yanks away from Shiro’s shoulder to blink up at him, his eyes still Galra-yellow and misty.

Shiro tips forward, his forehead pressing to Keith’s. 

Keith makes a mournful sound. “ _Shiro._ ”

“Keith,” Shiro says back.

And there’s nothing more they can say but that. They stare into one another’s eyes, their foreheads pressed together. It’s ridiculous, kneeling in their bed together, Keith covered in purple spots, Shiro’s hand trembling when he lifts it to cup Keith’s cheek.

He’s not sure how much time passes with them merely holding one another. But eventually, Keith starts to lean away. Shiro’s prepared to let him go, but instead of letting him, Keith only tugs hard on Shiro’s shoulders until they’re both sprawled out on the bed. After that, Keith settles against his side, cuddling up to him, pressing his face up against Shiro’s chest, hiding his face but still yearning for that connection.

And Shiro gives it to him. He holds him tight, nosing into Keith’s hair.

“The Blades emphasized the mission above all else,” Keith says once they settle.

Shiro nods, his hand lifting to tangle up in Keith’s hair. He cradles the back of his skull gently.

“The universe over all else,” Keith continues, voice strangely neutral. “I don’t…” He frowns. “I’m grateful for my time with the Blades, but— I don’t think that was the best thing for me to be taught at the time. I mean. Finding Mom made it better— she helped me reshape my view, but… Yeah.”

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispers.

“I left Voltron to join the Blades because I felt— it felt like the right thing to do,” Keith says. “I felt like I was doing good and I didn’t… I felt like I wasn’t with Voltron, for a while.” His voice goes quiet then, as if what he’s about to say next is too exposing, too much to say: “I’d spent so much time trying to find you and then I did and it— I didn’t know what to do.” Keith’s hand splays over Shiro’s chest as he swallows, voice soft. “I didn’t feel like I was any good as a leader and it…”

Shiro tangles his fingers with Keith’s again, picking up the hand on his chest. “I’m sorry that we— that I made you feel like you didn’t belong there with us.”

“Shiro, no,” Keith says, hushed. “It wasn’t your fault. If I’d stayed—”

“Shh,” Shiro says, squeezing his hand. “You had to do what was best for you. And it was good for you, ultimately. You found Krolia and— and if it helped you see the ways that you’re worthwhile, Keith, that you’ve _always_ been worth it—”

“I’m really glad,” Keith whispers, “that I didn’t die at Naxela.”

“Me too,” Shiro says, which is still far too painfully inadequate to describe how he feels, imagining losing Keith that day. That, under Haggar’s control, he might not have been as devastated as he should have been.

Knowledge or Death. Victory or Death. No matter what it takes to save the universe.

Shiro tugs Keith in closer, pressing his face into Keith’s hair again and just breathing him in, assuring himself that he’s _here_ , that he’s solid and alive.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, the thought painful and bursting from inside him. _I love you. You are everything._ You _are the universe._

“I— you always—”

“I know,” Keith whispers, cuddling in closer to Shiro. “I know. I know who I am. And, I— we decided, right? We’re going to figure out who we are in a peaceful world.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I’m here with you.”

“And I’m here with you.”

There’s so much that they both want— what Shiro wants. To be happy. To find where he belongs in this universe. To know who he is.

Just Shiro.

And just Keith.

“This is nice,” Keith says after a moment, his voice soft. “I… wanted to tell you that for a while. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Shiro nods, squeezing him tight.

Keith sighs. “This is nice, too,” he murmurs, squeezing Shiro back. “You’re warm.”

“Galra Thing?”

Keith laughs. “Galra Thing.”

He cuddles in and Shiro’s sure to sweep him closer into his arms, rubbing his back. Keith lets loose one of his low trills and nuzzles down into Shiro’s throat.

Shiro hesitates, and then drops a kiss to the top of Keith’s head. It makes Keith sigh.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Shiro vows. “I’m glad you can rest.”

Keith twists his head up to look at Shiro. “Shiro, you don’t need to worry about me now. I told you before— I know my place.” Keith’s voice goes a little quiet, a little breathless. “I know where I belong now. That I matter.”

“Good,” Shiro stresses, squeezing him tight. His smile is a little shaky when he adds, “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you, Keith.”

Keith laughs. “Yeah.”

“You have no idea how— how important you are to me.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, sounding breathless again. “Could you— um. This is weird.”

“Mm?”

“Pet my hair more?” Keith asks, blushing around the purple spots. “It feels good. It’s— it’s helping me relax.”

Obediently, Shiro drags his fingers through Keith’s hair. He watches Keith’s eyelids flutter shut. His breath comes out raspier than before— a sigh that’s almost a purr.

“Yeah,” Keith says with a breath, nuzzling up against Shiro’s chest. “Like that.”

They fall into an easy silence after that. Shiro pets his fingers through Keith’s hair, just letting his fingers drag slowly. He rubs circles against his scalp, massaging at the spots just behind his ears. Keith makes low murmuring sounds, thoroughly relaxed and boneless against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro fists his hand around Keith’s hair, silky and smooth against his palm, and gives a playful little tug at the bundle. Keith lets out a soft sigh and then laughs, sounding sleepy.

Shiro plays with pieces of Keith’s hair, rubbing slow circles behind one of his ears until he hears that strange raspy purr deep in Keith’s chest, rumbling where he’s pressed up against Shiro.

“Guess I understand why you didn’t necessarily want to go back to the Blades,” Shiro says.

Keith hums. “It’s good they’re moving to a humanitarian role… but, yeah.”

Shiro moves his hand down through Keith’s hair and starts kneading at the back of his neck instead. Keith gives an appreciative murmur. He tilts his head back and leans heavily against Shiro’s hand.

Shiro tries very hard not to appreciate the elegant arch of Keith’s neck, how easy it’d be to lean down and press his mouth to his skin, purple spots and all.

“A bit like the Garrison, huh?” Shiro asks, smiling faintly. “Changing.”

“Hopefully with the Blades, it’ll be a good change,” Keith murmurs.

“Hopefully,” Shiro agrees. He rubs circles over Keith’s skin. “I never… I never want you to feel disposable again, Keith. I never want you to feel like a weapon. I—” His throat closes up, his heart hammering. “Nobody should feel like that.”

Keith makes a sound, seeking him blindly— his hand finding Shiro’s cheek and cupping his jaw, as if that touch alone could banish all of Shiro’s worst thoughts.

“You make me feel like light,” Keith mumbles and then his face turns red. “I— that sounds weird. I just mean—”

When Shiro doesn’t interrupt him, Keith gets more flustered. He ducks his head, his hair spilling forward to hide his face.

Shiro laughs, breathless, and cups Keith’s face, tilting it back up again so their eyes can meet.

“Like light?”

“Y— yeah. I don’t know how to explain it,” Keith says, voice small. “But it’s a good feeling.”

“Good,” Shiro says and smiles.

“Thank you,” Keith says. When Shiro makes a soft sound of confusion, Keith’s smile turns shy and wobbly. “For helping me. Holding me. And, um, for listening.”

Shiro nods, fingers twisting up in Keith’s hair. “Always, Keith. For as long as you want me to.”

“You’re not angry with me, are you?” Keith asks.

“What? About what?”

“About Naxela,” Keith says.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro breathes. “No. Never.”

Keith makes a soft sound, his expression melting into relief. He tips into Shiro again, tilting so close that for a startling moment Shiro thinks Keith’s going to kiss him.

Instead, he presses their foreheads together. Keith stares into his eyes, unyielding and intense. Shiro doesn’t dare blink or look away.

“I’m never angry with you,” Shiro says. “If anything, I’m angry at myself for never knowing— and for helping you to feel that way.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Keith says, insisting.

Shiro wants to shake his head, but that means pulling back from where they’re pressed together. He settles for tracing his fingertips down the back of Keith’s neck, feeling him shiver in his hold.

Shiro licks his lips. “I should be clear about something.”

“Mm?”

“I know that, in the end, sacrifice might be inevitable… we might be in a situation that we can’t avoid, someday.” He takes a deep breath. “We might someday have to make a choice between ourselves or the universe.”

Keith hums, going quiet. There are the words between them left unspoken— Keith, clinging to his blade at the clone facility, holding onto an empty shell of Shiro and unwilling to let go. Shiro, watching from the Black Lion’s consciousness.

Keith, refusing to let him go.

If it comes down to a choice between the universe and themselves, they both know what choice they should make. And, Shiro suspects, he knows what choice both of them _would_ make instead.

Still, Shiro says, “My universe is better with you in it, Keith. And there’s never going to be any situation where I want you gone.”

Keith laughs, his expression turning fragile, his eyes glassy. He lifts his hand, tracing his fingertips along Shiro’s jaw. His smile is tentative but no less heartfelt. He looks like he might want to cry.

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith says. “Me too.”


	9. Chapter 9

Keith sleeps in fits and starts through the afternoon and well into the evening. He grumbles unhappily whenever Shiro shifts or dares to move. He does eventually let Shiro sneak out from the bed to bring him water and to slice up some of the peach-apples to hand-feed him just so he’ll have something in his stomach.

Keith is miserable the entire time, whining through each bite. Shiro shushes him, coaxing gently until Keith chews and swallows. Shiro’s free hand combs through Keith’s hair, soothing as much as he can. He finds that Keith likes the spots just behind his ears, rubbing his thumb in slow, methodical circles until Keith relaxes and, with a grumble, eats the fruit.

By the evening, the purple starts to fade. Keith’s still a mosaic of spots, but his eyes are a little clearer.

“You could take off now… I think the oxygen cycle’s complete,” Keith says. “If you wanted.”

Shiro shakes his head, setting another full glass of water near the bed so Keith can reach it if he needs it. He climbs into bed and settles into his spot beside Keith, opening his arms obediently for Keith to snuggle in closer.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, once you’re feeling better,” Shiro says. He rubs Keith’s back as Keith presses his face in close to Shiro’s chest.

“We’ll fall behind schedule,” Keith grumbles.

“We’ll get there when we get there. We’re not on any specific timeline.”

That does seem to soothe Keith. He huffs a breath and lies still against Shiro. Shiro keeps rubbing his back with one hand, the other lifting to curl and coil into his hair, silky and smooth against his fingertips. It feels just as comforting for Shiro as it does for Keith.

“Remind me to update my medical file,” Keith says, face pressed against Shiro’s sleep shirt. His voice sounds less congested, at least. He sighs when Shiro tugs playfully on his hair. “No more goddamn space cilantro.”

He punctuates the statement by nuzzling against Shiro’s collarbone. Shiro hums softly, not quite a laugh, and holds him closer.

“I can feel it,” Keith mumbles. “I’m gonna burrow.”

“That’s alright,” Shiro says. “I’ve got you.”

Keith makes a low murmuring sound, something foreign and grumbly, and nuzzles closer until Shiro starts petting his hair again.

Shiro smiles a little. “Can you actually feel it coming? The burrowing?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Keith says. “Not always. Sometimes it just feels like… like a need. I guess. Mom called it a lingering instinct. Galra don’t really need it anymore, but whatever Galra evolved from did.”

“Kinda like anxiety, then?” Shiro asks. “Evolutionary, but a pain in the ass?”

Keith scoffs. “Exactly.” He squirms a hand between them, pressing it down against Shiro’s belly. “I can feel it right here. It kind of swirls. It feels like itching. Like, not like anxiety or hunger. But just… something.”

“Have you always felt it?”

Keith nods. He paws his hand up over Shiro’s stomach and settles it against his chest. Shiro wonders if Keith can feel the way his heart speeds up at the contact.

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I thought it was just something we all felt. Lots of my foster parents thought I just moved a lot in my sleep when I’d wake up in the morning all cocooned by blankets and sheets.”

The only thing that betrays his sadness is the way his fingers curl, just slightly, over Shiro’s heart. Shiro sweeps him in closer. Keith lets out a breath, his shoulders easing and tucking his face against Shiro’s shoulder, just the ghost of his breath breezing over his throat.

“I just… wanted to burrow with someone,” Keith says. “Just… wanted someone to hold me, I guess.”

Shiro tightens his hold around him. It hurts a little to lie on his shoulder port when it’s still activated, but it’s worth it to keep two hands on Keith— one in his hair, the other fanned across his back. It’s worth it, always, to hold Keith.

“Oh, Keith…”

“I don’t mean it as depressing as it sounds,” Keith says, scratching at the back of his neck where some of the purple spots still color his skin. “I mean… usually I don’t get really big into people touching me.” He swallows. “I, er, well… aside from you, obviously.”

Shiro nods a little, accepting the words. Keith’s always been a little cuddlier and clingier with Shiro, even as far back as when they first met. He knows how many people would describe Keith as prickly, especially as a teenager, but he’s only ever been gentle in Shiro’s arms.

Really, Shiro can relate. He never realized how little he touched others until he met Keith. The hand on the shoulder felt natural, and all the ways they’ve held each other on this trip all the more so. But in reality, Shiro knows he’s never been overly physically demonstrative with others. Keith is, as always, the exception.

“So when you burrow… it’s because you want to be close,” Shiro says.

Keith nods, sighing out, his body relaxing against Shiro’s. “It’s about feeling safe. It’s about… being safe with someone important. I’d still burrow if someone were with me, but it’s about protecting us both.”

“Suits you, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” Shiro says, petting Keith’s hair, the inky strands silk through his fingertips. “I don’t know anybody more protective than you.”

Keith laughs. It’s low and throaty and makes warmth erupt in Shiro’s gut. “Yeah, that’s me.”

-

Keith does end up burrowing, once he drops off into sleep. Now that Shiro has a better sense of what it is and why it happens, he isn’t quite as surprised when he wakes to Keith’s face shoved into his armpit. He adjusts so that Keith’s tucked up against his neck instead, Keith’s hands kneading against Shiro’s back.

He lets Keith do what instinct tells him, allowing Keith to knead at his back and to nuzzle in closer with a sleepy, purring whimper. When Keith grabs at the blanket and twists it around them, Shiro lets himself get cocooned, one hand on Keith’s hip to guide him so they’re tucked together in a comfortable position.

Shiro hates having his head constricted. Even as a kid, he could never fall asleep with the blanket pulled over his head. The air always felt too stale, too warm and suffocating. Now, in hindsight of everything he’s been through, Shiro feels the smallest twist of panic at the way the blankets close in on him.

It’s easy enough to focus on Keith, to focus on the way they breathe together. Shiro keeps his eyes shut, ignoring the dampness of their shared, blanketed air.

Now that Shiro knows to look for it, he finds the strange aggressiveness of burrowing to be charming. That, too, feels like Keith— protective, aggressive, diving head-first and clinging. Somehow, more than anything, that’s what makes Shiro relax: focusing on the sleepy snuffles Keith makes as he nuzzles against the column of Shiro’s neck, his hips shimmying a little as he hooks himself closer to Shiro’s body, tightening the blankets around them so they are well and truly nesting.

Shiro is unsure if he’ll be able to fall asleep again. As per usual, once he’s awake, he feels wide-awake, infinitely awake. The idea of falling back asleep feels impossible. It’s too warm beneath the blanket and he’s cosmically aware of Keith’s breath misting against his neck as Keith kicks his feet out, untucking the sheets and twisting them around their ankles instead.

Shiro isn’t sure what about their position eventually satisfies Keith, but he stops squirming quite so much after a time, the blanket draped and twisted around him. Keith’s hands knead at Shiro’s chest, little pawing raps of his knuckles.

And, well, that’s distracting. Shiro tries very hard not to focus on that, terrified of a more mortifying distraction should Keith continue. But it feels nice, to feel the way Keith’s fingers dig into Shiro’s chest, following the lines of his muscles, the dips of his collarbones. Keith makes another low trilling sound, his mouth pressing against Shiro’s throat.

“Keith?” Shiro whispers in some vain hope that Keith might be awake. He’s not surprised when the name garners no response.

He lies there, suffering, as Keith makes adorably sleepy sounds, nuzzling his neck and pawing at his chest. Unsure what else to do, Shiro runs his hand up and down along Keith’s back, tracing his spine. Keith is pliant beneath his touch, sleep-soft and sweet. Comfortable. Relaxed.

Shiro opens his eyes, staring at the stitchwork of their blanket. It feels easy to imagine doing this every night with Keith— just holding each other, tucked in close on a bed. He imagines how easy it would be to do this once they return to Earth, too.

Because, eventually, they will need to return to Earth.

It’s a miserable thought. It hits Shiro hard, leaving him surprised by how devastatingly it sweeps through his core, twisting his heart up. Never would he have guessed this would be his reaction to returning to his home planet. Not quite dread, not quite anxiety, but a sort of resignation.

He hates the feeling. He hates what’s waiting for them there, all the things he’s run away from.

His body’s gone rigid and he feels the moment Keith shifts from sleep to wakefulness, woken by the tension lancing through Shiro’s body.

“Shiro?” Keith mumbles sleepily, his hand tracing down Shiro’s, searching out his wrist— thinking, perhaps, that Shiro is having another muscular spasm.

“Sorry,” Shiro says in a low murmur. “Go back to sleep.”

Keith knocks his head against the underside of Shiro’s chin as he sits up to look at him, blatantly ignoring Shiro’s suggestion. He squeezes Shiro’s wrist, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Shiro assures him. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”

Keith grunts, rubbing his eyes with his other hand to clear away the sleepiness. His jaw cracks around a yawn and Shiro can’t help his dumb smile in response, staring straight into Keith’s mouth with him up close like this. Shiro very much doubts that he’s supposed to find Keith’s yawn cute, or the tiniest hint of fangs on his canines. He’s never noticed that before.

Keith squeezes his wrist one last time and then lets go. He grunts a bit, shrugging his shoulders to push the blanket up and over them, exposing them to the cooler air in their living quarters. Shiro sucks in a deep, clean breath.

“You look better,” Shiro says, which is true. Keith’s spots are slowly fading and his eyes look clearer.

Keith nods his head, flopping down beside Shiro, his legs hooked around Shiro’s and otherwise tucked up into Shiro’s side. Shiro obediently curls his arm around his shoulders, anchoring him in close. Keith rests his head on Shiro’s chest as he tugs their blanket back around them, tucking them in without covering their faces with it.

“That’s how it was before, too. I just slept it off and it got better really quick,” Keith says. He plays with a loose strand of Shiro’s sleep shirt and then looks up at him, eyes luminous in the dark. “What were you thinking about?”

“Earth.”

Keith frowns thoughtfully, plucking at that loose string. Shiro tips his chin down, watching the shift of Keith’s delicate fingers, each movement precise.

“We’ll need to head home soon,” Shiro says. It’s been movements since they ran away together, after all. They can’t put it off forever, especially as they’re on their way to visit Anterrilyn, their last stop.

“Maybe,” Keith says, which Shiro appreciates about him— how if Shiro said the word, they’d never go home. They’d just keep traveling forever. The thought pops into Shiro’s head and it’s a beautiful one, but unrealistic. He clamps it back down.

He lifts his hand, tangling it in Keith’s hair just because he can, brushing it away from his face. Keith’s smile turns gentle at the edges, head tilting as he looks up at Shiro.

“We talked about it,” Shiro says. Months ago now, Shiro knows, but still remembers. “Feeling… stuck down there. Cornered, I guess.”

Keith nods. “It’s understandable… the way they treated you—”

Keith cuts himself off, mouth screwing shut. But he’s made no secret of how he feels about the Garrison. Shiro can’t blame him for it, either. He pets his fingers through Keith’s hair, rubbing slow circles with his thumb down the back of his neck, following each knob of his spine.

“Are you worried about what comes next?” Keith asks.

“With the Garrison?”

“In general.”

Shiro frowns, considering. Keith watches him, those glowing eyes poised on him entirely, only going half-lidded because of Shiro’s attention as he massages into his neck and scalp.

They’ve talked about this, too, Shiro knows. He nods his head, sighing. “We saved the universe in our twenties. Of course I wonder what comes next.”

“Who we are after the war,” Keith elaborates and Shiro nods his agreement. He watches Keith bite his lip, chewing on it as he thinks.

“Exactly.” Shiro laughs, playing with a piece of Keith’s hair and listening to that raspy, involuntary purr deep in Keith’s chest. “I have the Admiralty waiting for me… presumably. But besides that? I don’t know.”

Keith hums, closing his eyes as Shiro keeps playing with his hair, expression relaxed. “I’m not much interested in being part of the Garrison. Not much interested in rejoining the Blades. So what then?”

 _What then_ is, apparently, the two of them running away together. Exploring the universe together. Being together.

Shiro sucks in a deep breath and lets it back out again. He rubs his thumb at the spot just behind Keith’s ear.

“I’m tired of being a weapon,” Shiro says. “I’m tired of feeling like one.”

Keith’s hand touches his cheek then, turning his head so their eyes meet. Keith looks like he wants to protest, like he wants to say any number of things. But his expression settles when Shiro casts him a small smile.

“I know I’m not,” Shiro says.

“Good,” Keith says, fingertips tracing Shiro’s jaw. “Can I be honest?”

“Be honest,” Shiro says, smiling.

“I’m afraid.”

Shiro blinks in surprise, making a soft, involuntary sound. He rolls onto his side so he can face Keith properly. Keith shifts to accommodate it, moving so that they’re lying facing one another, staring into one another’s eyes. Through it all, Keith’s hand keeps tracing along Shiro’s cheek.

Shiro finds Keith’s hair again, curling and uncurling his fingers.

“Afraid how?” Shiro prompts.

“Change,” Keith says and shrugs. He frowns, seeming to examine the feeling. His eyes are twin points of light in the dark, little stars glowing. “Change has… it’s always been a bad thing for me. People leaving. People getting hurt. People… not caring anymore.”

“Mm.” Shiro tugs on a piece of Keith’s hair, scritching his nails across the back of Keith’s scalp until he sees him shiver. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

Shiro smiles. “I think it’s natural that… all humans kind of want stability, right? If we’re talking evolution again.”

Keith laughs. “And Galra?”

“Not sure about Galra, but I imagine they want stability, too,” Shiro says, tracing his fingertip over the shell of Keith’s ear, round and adorably human. “My point is… I mean, I’ve felt that, too.”

“Really?”

“When I thought you were building this ship to leave and rejoin the Blades… it was terrifying to think I wouldn’t see you every day.” He smiles helplessly. “I like having you near.”

“I like being near,” Keith answers, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to leave. I… the fact that we’re— that all of us are close now, that means a lot to me. I wouldn’t want it to break up just like that, all of us going our separate ways. I wouldn’t… It’d be like Voltron was really, truly gone. Done.”

Shiro nods, curling his fingers through Keith’s hair gently. He imagines curling his fingers up tight enough to tug Keith’s face up, to lean in and kiss him. A change he might welcome, a change that maybe isn’t so scary.

But, no, that kind of change is the most terrifying of all: of doing something that will alter their friendship forever. If it doesn’t work out, if Keith doesn’t want a relationship, or Shiro inevitably fucks up the relationship, then it’s over. The friendship would be ruined, too.

There’s nothing more terrifying than telling Keith how he feels.

“It’s easy for me to say fuck the Garrison,” Keith says. “But I’m not really sure what that means for us. For any of us.”

“ _Let’s figure out who we are in a peaceful world,_ ” Shiro says and smiles when Keith blinks in surprise. “I remember.”

Keith’s expression softens.

They lie there in the dark together, silent and weighted, Keith’s soft fingers still against Shiro’s burning skin.

“I know who you are,” Keith says.

“Oh yeah?”

“You are kind.” Keith’s fingers drag down Shiro’s jaw and settle at his chin, fingertips so light they’re barely there. “There’s no one in the universe kinder than you.”

Shiro’s mouth flickers with a smile. “There are kinder people. I’m looking at him.”

“No,” Keith says, adamant. “No. I don’t know anyone else who would have taken a chance on me, not the way you did. Not like you’ve always done. That wasn’t Shiro the Soldier or Shiro the Weapon. That was just Shiro.”

Shiro’s heart squeezes in his chest. He bites his lip and watches Keith’s eyes slide down, studying his fingertips against Shiro’s chin.

“I never really understood why you did that,” Keith admits.

“Keith—”

The truth is, Shiro remembers seeing Keith that first day they met and knowing he was brilliant. Truthfully, he saw Keith and saw a little bit of himself in him. A kid written off, never given a chance despite his best efforts. Shiro’s situation might have involved his illness, but he remembers that well— having to fight for every chance he could get.

He remembers meeting Keith and seeing something amazing in him. Knowing he could and would be amazing. Wanting to see that, more than anything else in the universe.

Getting to see it now, to see the man Keith has become— brilliant and insightful and _amazing_. Blazing like a thousand stars.

Shiro loves Keith with everything he is.

“It’s okay if you don’t think that’s amazing or kind,” Keith says. “It’s fine if you don’t think that’s remarkable. I know it is. And that’s why I know you’re kind.”

“That was before everything,” Shiro says. “Everything that happened to me.”

Keith shakes his head, determined, his eyes burning in the dark. “There is no one in this universe kinder than you.”

Shiro sighs out and smiles. Whenever Keith says it, so sure and so determined, Shiro wants to believe it. “Thanks, Keith.”

Keith sighs. “Thanks, too. For listening. I… I know change is going to happen. It always does.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “But it’s not always bad. And not everything changes.” He smiles. “You know that whenever I have a say for it, I’m not going anywhere. Like I promised… you’re stuck with me until you’re sick of me.”

Keith huffs a laugh. “You too, Shiro.”

His fingertips trace over Shiro’s chin and then, slowly, drop away to rest against his chest instead. He smiles at Shiro and Shiro smiles back and the world feels a little easier, a little clearer. A little less uncertain.

-

It’s well before the day-cycle’s set to start again in LP, but it’s clear neither of them is falling back asleep. Keith scoots out of bed and drops down, quiet so as not to wake the wolf where he’s slumbering in his blanketed corner.

Keith turns to Shiro, patting him on the shoulder. “Want to get out of here?”

Shiro laughs. “You up for traveling?”

“We gotta get to Anterrilyn, right? We’re still about a movement out.”

Shiro climbs from bed, too, and they move through the dark as quietly as possible. Shiro slips on socks and watches Keith select another one of Shiro’s shirts to tug on to replace the one he slept in.

Together, they climb up to the cockpit and set through the steps for takeoff. The oxygen cycler is done collecting ambient air and water to replenish LP and once Shiro unlocks the safety protocols, it’s a smooth takeoff.

Keith lounges in the copilot’s chair, knees to his chest and cheek resting against his knee as he watches Shiro pilot them through the atmosphere. It’s still dark on the planet, but as they lift off, the glowing bioluminescence lights their departure, just as dotted as the sky above them.

“Not too bad a takeoff,” Shiro says, feeling the weight of Keith’s eyes on him. He glances at him. “What do you think, Captain?”

“Perfect flying as usual, Admiral,” Keith demurs.

It makes Shiro laugh, setting their course towards Anterrilyn. Keith’s right on their timeline: they’re still a little over a movement out, maybe less if they fly fast. Shiro isn’t in any particular hurry. The green lava isn’t a one-time event, after all, existing well through the planet’s revolution-cycle.

“… Does it bother you if I call you that?” Keith asks, flipping a few of the stabilizer switches on his side of the control panel when Shiro nods towards them.

Shiro shakes his head. “Oh— no, not really.”

Truthfully, he hasn’t even thought of what it means for Keith to call him that. It doesn’t feel like a noose the way accepting the position had.

Then again, he’s always felt a little squirmy whenever Keith calls him _sir._

“If anything,” Shiro says quietly, clearing his throat, “I like the way you say it. I can tell you’re teasing.”

“Like when you call me Captain,” Keith says.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t mind when you do, either,” Keith says, clarifying. He fiddles with a piece of his hair, long and curling along his jaw. “I mean, it reminds me of you more than anything else. Since you were the captain first. Kind of like how… sometimes, when someone calls me the Black Paladin, I think they’re talking about you.”

“Really?”

Keith shrugs. “Does that surprise you?”

Shiro shakes his head. It doesn’t surprise him to hear it, necessarily, but he can’t pretend he’s considered that before, either. It makes sense, though. He knows how hard it was for Keith to step into the Black Paladin role at first, how he needed more time to grow into the leader Shiro’s always known he’d be.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Keith says. He smiles. “It makes me feel more connected to you. Like… we’re both the Black Paladins.”

Shiro smiles back helplessly, turning to look at Keith fully and finding Keith’s eyes already on him. “Yeah.”

“And I’d look good in the armor,” Keith says.

Shiro perks up. “You’d look _great_ in black.”

Keith grins at him, blushing, and looks away. He busies his hands, flipping and adjusting some of the switches and dials on the control panel until the ship’s flying stabilizes and they’re well and truly on their way.

Shiro flips autopilot so he can better turn towards Keith and focus on him. He hears the sound of the wolf porting into the cockpit just before he shoves his face straight into Keith’s lap. Keith gives a startled _oof_ and buries his hands into the wolf’s mane, petting him vigorously.

“Hey, good morning, bud,” Keith says, cooing.

“Guess he got lonely down there.”

“Or he’s hungry,” Keith says and laughs when the wolf makes a grumbly sound in response, snout buried against Keith’s stomach.

Once satisfied with attention and affection from Keith, the wolf turns around and shoves his head onto Shiro’s lap. Shiro hums his good morning and pets behind his ears.

“Are you feeling up for eating?” Shiro asks, eyeing the faded spots on Keith’s skin. “I can make us something.”

Keith hums. “I think maybe only coffee for right now… maybe later, for lunch.” He pats his stomach. “Still feeling a little tender, I think.”

“You look better, at least,” Shiro says.

Keith smiles. “You helped.” He looks down, patting his hand down the wolf’s back. “Thanks, um… thanks for staying with me and helping me. It… it helped a lot.”

“Oh,” Shiro says quietly. “I’m glad. I didn’t feel like I could do much, but—”

“You did,” Keith insists, lurching forward to cover Shiro’s hand with his, leaning in closer, his eyes big. “You always do.” He squeezes Shiro’s hand. “You have no idea all that you’ve done for me, Shiro.”

Shiro breathes out, his heart squirming in his chest. Slowly, he turns his hand so that it’s palm up, pressing against Keith’s. He squeezes it once and watches Keith smile, expression softening as he squeezes back.

“I’m glad I helped. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Shiro says.

Keith squeezes his hand again and then stands, slowly working around the wolf and jerking his head towards the door. “Want to go make coffee?”

-

The next few days pass by slowly, but without incident. By the second day, Keith’s purple spots are gone entirely and he’s able to eat beyond just sipping coffee and chewing on some fruit slices.

They stop on a couple planets on their way, resupplying their food and double-checking that nothing is related to that strange cilantro on the previous planet before consuming.

Shiro and Keith take turns switching who pilots. It’s comfortable. Sometimes they talk and sometimes they don’t talk, passing the vargas by in a steady, pleasant silence. They anchor LP to moons or asteroids whenever they need to stop for the night, letting the wolf dart outside LP to stretch his legs and float around in the vacuum of space, the two of them watching vigilantly from the cockpit’s viewport.

It’s perfect. Shiro loves those mindless, mundane conversations— topics Shiro can’t even fully recall. The random songs that pop into his head, the random observations Keith mentions as they pass by a pulsar or a quasar. Updating the star maps for Allura and collecting the occasional space debris for Pidge.

They message their friends, too. Just quick correspondence, the occasional picture of the wolf sleeping with his head in Shiro’s lap.

They fall into their routine: waking in the morning, making breakfast together, taking turns piloting and talking about nothing. Shiro shaves his undercut and is sure to clean out the sink for Keith. Keith steals Shiro’s shirts and walks around barefoot. Shiro still can’t get used to the green water. They park on moons when they can so they can stretch their legs, breathe some fresh air, let the wolf run around and explore. They make their food together, they talk together, they sleep in the same bed together.

Shiro keeps waiting for the moment when he’ll get on Keith’s nerves, when Keith will want to be alone and just spend time in the cockpit by himself. It never comes, and Keith never seems frustrated by Shiro’s presence.

When Shiro wakes in the morning with his nose tucked into Keith’s hair, with Keith’s limbs thrown around him, that feels like its own little joy, too. It’s easy to imagine that this could all be forever.

And how much Shiro wants it to be forever.

He watches the unmoving needle of the compass from its vantage point in the cockpit and thinks of his True North, of Keith, of everything he’s ever wanted and let himself want.

Keith plays with a piece of his hair and glances at Shiro. They’re navigating through an asteroid field today, about a day or two out from Anterrilyn.

“So,” Keith says. “Excited to see your lava?”

Shiro laughs. Maybe he looked wistful, staring out of the viewport, but it isn’t the lava pits he’s longing for, or even the stars.

“Yeah, Keith.”

-

They send their documentation for docking permits on Anterrilyn about twenty vargas out from reaching the planet’s system and receive the corresponding instructions for decontamination and registration.

They arrive at Anterrilyn slightly behind schedule, but not as badly as they both feared. In the end, Keith made good time during his piloting shifts.

Anterrilyn is a bustling metropolitan planet, full of luscious greens and blues. All the buildings around them look like scales, shimmering in the bright lights. Now that they’re actually on the planet, Shiro feels a small shiver of excitement— he’s eager to see the infamous green lava pools.

He and Keith languish in the customs office for a few vargas as they sort through paperwork and chatter from the customs agent. It appears she’s a huge fan of the Paladin Show and it makes Shiro flush all the way up to his ears, stark red against the sea of greens. He’s vividly aware of Keith’s amusement as he stands beside him.

Shiro suspects it’s because they’re Paladins and the customs agent is a fan that she allows the wolf to accompany them onto the planet even without the proper permits.

“Have a lovely visit,” the customs agent says as she issues their paperwork back to their PADD. “I hope you and your mate enjoy your stay, Mister Black Paladin, sir. _Such_ a pleasure to meet you.”

Shiro coughs and mumbles, “You too.”

They make a hasty exit from the customs office, weaving between the plethora of aliens collecting their things. It appears the capital city of Anterrilyn is a bustling tourist port, home to many attractions and conferences. Keith nearly gets bowled over by an Unilu family in their haste to catch a six-legged bus crawling down the street.

“Don’t say a word,” Shiro mutters once the doors shut behind them.

Keith’s grin is practically sun-bright, his eyes twinkling. “I’d never dream of it, Mister Black Paladin, _sir_. Oh, please, can I get your autograph?”

The customs agent hadn’t asked for his autograph, but that’s probably only because she was on the job and it would be horrendously unprofessional to ask for it while issuing a traveler’s visa. Even if that traveler was, apparently, a celebrity.

Shiro’s not sure if he’s ever going to stop blushing. The Paladin Show tapings still exist out there, but what’s worse is that the universe has moved past biopics and documentaries about the Paladins and into dramatized representations of their lives. He’s fairly certain he’s caught Coran watching a soap opera about them. Shiro’s not quite sure if he’s ready to see an actor recreate all of Shiro’s mistakes.

They loiter for only one dobosh before a six-legged car skitters to a stop in front of them and a tall woman steps out from within its chambers. She stretches to her full height— towering well above Shiro and Keith— elongated and wavy in a way Shiro can’t quite describe.

The Anterrilytes look and move like how ribbons might in the breeze, caught mid-twist. They’re humanoid with long limbs that stretch nearly three times as long as the torso, their eyes inquisitive and ever-present, dotting along what would be the human equivalent of a forehead.

The woman bows low and says, “Thank you for awaiting me. My name is Elzie and I’ve been assigned to help you adjust to our humble planet.”

“Thank you,” Keith says, stepping in for Shiro. It leaves warmth twisting in Shiro’s gut, especially when Keith’s hand ghosts down Shiro’s spine and rests at the small of his back, a comforting touch: _I’ve got this,_ it says. “It wasn’t necessary for you to trouble yourself for us, but we’re grateful.”

It’s the right thing to say. Shiro can see the pleasure radiating off Elzie— literally. When she smiles, little bursts of yellow light sparkle from her temples. Literal sparkles. Shiro’s stunned.

“It’s our pleasure to house two of the Paladins of Voltron,” Elzie says, just as all other ambassadors before her have said. Shiro can’t blame any of them for the diplomatic words, even if they genuinely feel it. Elzie, at least, seems perfectly earnest when she says, “We’ve set aside accommodations for you that we hope will be to your liking. Your ship will be well-cared for in our state-of-the-art facilities, and we trust that you’ll attend our mixer tonight.”

“Mixer?” Shiro asks, wanting to groan at the mere thought of it. He’s gotten so used to just having Keith with him that the idea of mingling and playing the diplomat makes him want to shrivel up. They escaped Earth precisely to avoid these situations.

Elzie is still radiating happiness as she ducks down again to pet the wolf, her three-fingered hand held out tentatively for the wolf to sniff. The wolf considers only for a moment before he butts into her hand and greedily accepts her pets.

“Is ‘mixer’ not the appropriate word?” Elzie asks, tapping her temple in thought. Little bursts of red spiral out before dimming into an almost clear, wispy white. “Party? Yes, party might be more appropriate. State dinner.”

“I hope not for us,” Keith says and it’s only once he speaks that Shiro realizes he hasn’t removed his hand from the small of Shiro’s back, resting there purposefully. It’s easy to center himself on that touch, to focus on that and let it calm him.

“Oh, no,” Elzie assures. “But we’d be… incredibly honored to have you attend, as well. It is… a birthday celebration for our _Khael_.” She beams, radiating those many yellow sparkles again. “She is a fan of your work, as well. She watches the Paladin Show every week!”

“Oh,” Shiro says faintly.

“Come,” Elzie says, sweeping her hand out towards the six-legged car. “We can discuss more as we approach the _Khael_ ’s residence. I’m sure you would like to rest from your travels before our party tonight.”

The way she says it leaves no room for denial: they’re going to that party tonight.

Shiro and Keith climb into the car.

-

They drive into the heart of the city and Shiro stops trying to make sense of everything he sees. It’s sensory overload: the Anterrilytes and their literal shooting of colors from their temples, the bright lights, the scaled architecture, the bustling cars and vehicles, the sounds, the sights, the smells.

By the time they reach the _Khael_ ’s residence— which, as far as Shiro can discern, is the planet’s equivalent of a president or leader— it’s a massive series of buildings right in the center of the city, surrounded by a scaled wall that parts to accept their incoming vehicle and closes behind them with a definitive clatter.

“This is the main building,” Elzie says, gesturing to a massive structure in the center of a massive series of gardens, more blues and greens flooding their views. “We have many outer buildings for visitors— one for families, one for those unmated, and those for mated pairs and trios.”

She points each one out, letting the car glide to a stop as they set down in front of the mated pairs and trios’ residence.

She sparkles more as she unfolds herself from within the car, holding the door open to the two of them. Keith climbs out and helps tug Shiro through the small opening, the wolf flicking in and out of existence as he chooses to port instead.

“This looks very nice,” Keith says neutrally.

Elzie beams. “We’ll send some refreshments for you two as you rest before tonight. We’ve also provided our dresses should you be without something more formal.” She pauses and then adds, “And of course, we’ll be very honored by your presence.”

Shiro smiles, knowing there’s no way they’ll be able to weasel out of the party or make an early exit. “We’re excited and honored to be invited.”

Elzie shows them to their room and, after inquiring about their food specifications, she departs. As soon as the door shuts behind her, Keith releases a long moan and flops down onto their one, massive bed.

“Geez,” he says.

Shiro chuckles as he collects a few spare blankets and makes a suitable nest for the wolf on a massive couch— big enough to comfortably seat at least ten people— before turning back towards Keith.

“Something to share?” Shiro teases.

“Remind me that the next time we go on a road trip, we stick to uninhabited planets _only._ ”

Shiro laughs, wandering over closer towards Keith. He doesn’t resist when Keith snaps his hand out to grip Shiro’s wrist and tug him down to lie sprawled out on the bed with him. He hums softly as Keith scoots closer, cuddling up to him. Shiro obediently wraps his arms around him, cradling him close.

“I just wanted to see some green lava,” Shiro says with a dramatic sigh. Keith grunts and nuzzles against Shiro’s shoulder. “If you want to stay in,” Shiro says, “I can just go on my own and make your excuses. Maybe you or the wolf got sick and just couldn’t make it out tonight. If you’re feeling anti-people.”

“And leave you all alone? Please,” Keith scoffs. “ _You_ can stay here and I’ll go to that party with the wolf as my date.”

The wolf peeks up from where he’s lounging on the couch, making himself at home and comfortable on the bed Shiro’s made for him. He gives a very wolfy huff.

Shiro tries to think of a suitable joke ( _Tough break if you pick a wolf over me for a date_ or _Maybe I should be your date and the wolf can stay behind instead_ ) but it all feels too earnest a response. The moment passes with the joke unspoken, silence descending between them.

“The food will probably be good,” Shiro says after the strange pause. “I promise to taste-test everything for you for space cilantro.”

“My hero,” Keith grumbles, nosing at Shiro’s shoulder as he sighs, rolling in closer so that he’s practically draped over Shiro. “Damn, you’re comfortable.”

Shiro rubs his back. “If nothing else works out for me, at least I have a potential career as a pillow.”

Keith giggles. He tugs back to grin down at Shiro, his hair falling from past his ears to frame his face. “At least you’ve got that going for you.”

“At least. I’ll offer my services to the party-goers tonight. Feeling tired? Just lie on me.”

“As if I’d let anyone else get a turn,” Keith says with a snort. He flops down against Shiro, now fully lying on him, arms curling around Shiro’s shoulders. “Just carry me the whole party. I’ll be a sack of potatoes.”

“I could,” Shiro says. “You could sit on my shoulders. Then we’d be as tall as the Anterrilytes.”

“Stacking up like Voltron,” Keith says, laughing in Shiro’s ear.

“Perfect plan.” He sighs. “So, party tonight and then lava pools tomorrow.”

“That green lava better be the most amazing lava in the entire universe,” Keith laughs. He strokes his hand over Shiro’s chest, seemingly just to do so, and looks up at Shiro with a wicked grin. “It is, after all, the entire reason I kidnapped you.”

“Oh, is that right?” Shiro teases.

“It is indeed, Admiral,” Keith says with that same grin that’s sparking through Shiro’s gut in a way he very much needs to ignore when Keith’s all pressed up to him like this.

Shiro laughs again and nudges into Keith’s shoulder. Then, feeling bold, he rolls them over and presses down against Keith, pinning him there. Keith laughs and lets out a startled breath when Shiro presses his full weight down against him.

Shiro just grins.

“Hey,” Keith wheezes, pushing playfully at his shoulder. He could throw Shiro off easily if he wanted, they both know, but instead Keith’s fingers curl around Shiro’s shoulder, holding tight instead of shoving away.

“Yes, Captain?” Shiro asks innocently.

Instead of continuing the tease, Keith just grins up at him and asks softly, “You gonna dance with me tonight?”

“Oh—” Shiro breathes, blinking. Keith’s smile is still on the edge of playful, teasing. Shiro isn’t sure how to read it. If he should answer sincerely or jokingly. “Is— are they going to make us dance?”

“It’s a fancy party,” Keith says. “I bet there’ll be dancing.” He tilts his head. “So what do you say?”

Shiro swallows. “If— if you want to?”

“Bet you’re a good dancer,” Keith says.

“I am an _awful_ dancer,” Shiro insists, blushing.

Keith studies his face, humming softly, and touches his cheek, following the trail of Shiro’s blush as it journeys up to his ears.

“Fucking doubt it,” Keith says. “Everything you do is perfect.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Keith,” Shiro says. His voice sounds croaky.

“Not flattery,” Keith says. He’s still grinning, although there’s something softer at the edges now.

The silence lapses between them. Shiro’s aware of the softness of the bed, the strength of Keith’s body pinned beneath him, the subtle ease of his weight down against Keith’s chest. The weight of Keith’s hand at his shoulder and then, slowly, sliding up to press against his cheek.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith asks. He waits for Shiro to nod before he asks, quieter still: “Dance with me tonight. Show me your moves.”

Shiro tries to laugh, but it comes out strangled and overwhelmed. He hopes he looks normal and not like the stupidly pining fool he feels like. He’s sure his expression is doing something stupid, his smile too dopey.

He manages to say, “Yeah, Keith. I can show you a thing or two.”

“Perfect,” Keith says and it practically sounds like a purr, and Shiro’s weak, he’s never going to be able to resist that or the dark swirl of Keith’s eyes.

He’s completely distracted when, effortlessly, Keith shoves at Shiro’s chest and flips him over. Keith is quick and nimble as he swings himself up and pins Shiro down on the bed instead. It’s a barely-there weight— Keith pinning him down and then springing off the bed again.

He dusts off his hands and starts exploring the rest of their visiting quarters, peeking into the other rooms and the closets, the massively decadent bathroom, and the balcony covered in blue plants.

There’s a nice spring in his step. Shiro props himself up onto his elbows just to watch Keith go, admiring the way he moves effortlessly through the penthouse, his hair framing his face, his shoulders broad. So, so painfully beautiful.

He imagines dancing with Keith, holding him close. Dipping him into the music and leaning after him, chasing his mouth with his. Kissing him until they can’t anymore, too busy smiling at each other to do anything else.

Shiro flops back onto the bed, arms held out on either side of him, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like a pathetic loser in love. The ceiling, at least, is beautiful— mosaic tiles of green and blue sparkling along the lighting fixtures. A massive skylight.

Flirting. He thinks Keith was just flirting with him. He’s nearly certain of it.

He swallows down thickly. He’s so useless at navigating these spaces. Keith is his friend— his best friend. And ever since he was returned to this body, he’s been telling himself that Keith views him only as a brother, only as a friend.

It’s a painful thing to let himself hope. It’s too tentative, just the little lick of a flame in his chest.

 _Keith was flirting with you,_ Shiro thinks to himself. And, more specifically, thinks, _He’s flirted with you before._

He wonders if that’s true. He wonders if he’s misinterpreting things. He wonders if it’s just the pattering cry of his heart, wedged in his chest, wanting to read into the way Keith presses against him.

Shiro takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it back out again. He focuses on the sensations he can catalogue: the pleasant buoyancy of the mattress beneath him, the feel of the air in his lungs, the sparkle on the tiles high above him, the sound of Keith’s footsteps as he walks around.

“Oh fuck, look at all this alcohol,” Keith says, holding up a bucket of ice, nearly spilling over with strangely shaped bottles. Keith frowns. “At least, I think it’s alcohol.”

Shiro props himself up onto his elbow again to get a better look, quirking his eyebrows up. “You’re just asking for another hangover, bud. I don’t care how much it hurts, I _am_ dragging you to that lava pit tomorrow.”

“If I’m hungover you can just throw me into the lava pit,” Keith says, setting the bucket down and digging through it.

He plucks out a wavy bottle, shaped like an ocean wave, and pops the cap to take a tentative sniff. He wrinkles his nose.

“Smells like cucumber.”

“Woah, really? Let me smell,” Shiro says, hopping up and wandering over. He takes a sniff of the bottle when Keith holds it up to him and wrinkles his nose. “Cucumber and lettuce. Excellent combo for alcohol.”

“If it even is alcohol,” Keith says.

Shiro barks a laugh. “Well, only one way to find out.” He takes the bottle and takes a small sip. He winks at Keith. “I’m your taste-tester tonight, remember?”

Keith snorts and elbows him. “By all means… get drunk on my behalf.”

Shiro takes a few sips of each bottle just to make sure, but doesn’t taste anything vaguely cilantro-y. Keith tries them each next and hums, looking reassured when nothing happens to him.

They select the fanciest looking bottle, and also the best-tasting one, and pour a few fingers worth of clear alcohol into two glasses. They bring it out onto the balcony, stepping around the massive blooms of blue flowers, leaning against the railing and staring out at the inner-city within the city.

They drink their drinks, leaning into one another, and watch as more and more people flood into the inner city, making their way towards the main house in preparation for the party tonight.

It _is_ alcohol, though. It’s alien alcohol that Shiro suspects would hit Anterrilytes more than Humans, or even Galra-Human hybrids. They make it through an entire bottle between them without feeling even slightly tipsy.

They wait, just in case it’s a slow-acting alcohol, not wanting to knock themselves out by being reckless. When a varga passes without incident, they open the next bottle and the next after that. Shiro feels pleasantly buzzed after two bottles but he suspects the amount they’ve had to drink would be enough to knock out any Anterrilyte drinker.

About halfway through their fourth bottle, food and supplies arrive— a massive tray of their requested food, set out on the table, plus some extras for the wolf. The attendant sets down the formal wear for them in the massive dressing closet before bowing and leaving.

Shiro dramatically tries each piece of food before he lets Keith eat, and it makes Keith laugh, nearly sloshing his drink onto the food. They eat and feed the wolf, then open the next bottle, lounging on the balcony.

“This is perfect,” Keith whispers as he leans against Shiro’s shoulder. He takes a long gulp of his drink.

Shiro turns his head, pressing his face into Keith’s hair and breathing in deep. He wonders if that’s obvious. Keith doesn’t seem to notice or mind, though, saying nothing as he plucks the bottle from Shiro’s side and pours them both more drinks.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “This is good.”

For half a second, Keith’s hand falls to Shiro’s thigh and rests there. Then it ghosts away, plucking up a piece of finger-food and popping it into his mouth.

“Was kind of hoping I could be drunk before we’re forced to socialize, though,” Keith says around that mouthful.

Shiro laughs and chugs his drink, pointedly. Keith giggles and mimics him, slinging back the last of his drink.

Shiro pours more. Maybe it’s irresponsible, but even after all this alcohol, he only feels slightly buzzed.

“We’d be exceptionally expensive dates on this planet,” Shiro says with a laugh. “Nothing like Olkari alcohol. One shot and you’re out for the night.”

Keith barks a laugh. “Speaking of,” he says and this time he does pat Shiro’s thigh. “We should get ready. By my count, we should be getting to that party soon.”

Shiro groans. “Let’s pretend we both got allergic reactions to these drinks.”

“No chance,” Keith says and hops to his feet. “Come on. You promised me a dance and I want to collect.”

“Oh, I see,” Shiro says, letting Keith haul him to his feet effortlessly. “Now you’re all excited to see me step on your feet.”

Keith grins. “And I caught a look at what their formal wear looks like and I definitely want to see you in it.”

Shiro chuckles and lets Keith drag him back into their penthouse. He makes a beeline for their closet and starts digging through the clothes. Predictably, it’s all greens and blues with some earthier tones thrown in.

“… I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you in green,” Shiro says to Keith as Keith separates the clothes based on size.

Mostly what Shiro notices is the massive amounts of fabric. Elzie wasn’t kidding when she called them dresses— they’ll have massive trains behind them.

“Something to look forward to, then,” Keith says, shoving the bigger dress into Shiro’s hands and guiding him towards the dressing closet. “Now get dressed. I want to see you.”

Shiro does as he’s told, shutting the closet doors as he sets out the clothes. He undresses quickly and pulls on the provided dress wear. His earlier assessment was correct: it’s a lot of blue-green and it’s a lot of fabric. It takes him a bit to find the proper opening for everything, but by the end of it, he’s squeezed his way into some tight-fitting trousers and under-tunic and draped the massive dress over himself. He ties it off at the waist and lets it fall around him in a flurry of fabric and feathers, draping behind him in an ostentatious and performative train. The fabric clings to his chest, accenting his shoulders and exposing the high-neck of the under-tunic.

He steps out of the closet feeling only a little self-conscious. Keith’s leaning back against the table but jerks upright once Shiro reappears.

“Wow,” Keith says and Shiro blushes, sure that he must look absurd. He presses a hand down his chest self-consciously, smoothing away the wrinkles in the delicate green fabric.

“It’s, uh, really not my color. Or style,” Shiro says. He glances at himself in the mirror mounted on the closet door and it’s at least not as bad as he was fearing. The fabric is heavy not for its material but for the sheer amount of it, all the gauze and feathers piled together to create a layer effect around him, wired in a way to keep it aloft behind him like a ballgown.

“You’re being hard on yourself,” Keith says.

“I look like a peacock,” Shiro says. It’s the best way to describe the aquamarine featherwork of the long train on his dress, the high-low hemline emphasizing his thighs but fluttering out behind him like tailfeathers.

“Bet you could flip that entire thing up like a peacock, too,” Keith says, arms crossed as he assesses Shiro with a critical eye.

Unable to resist the image or the opportunity to amuse Keith, Shiro gathers the fabric and feathers in his hands and tugs it all upward. The wire framing throughout assists him in that and he does, indeed, feel the fabric of his dress flip up against the back of his body, splayed outward exactly like a peacock. All that’s missing is the feathers in his hair.

To complete the look, he strikes a pose, feeling like a model, one toe pointed. Keith snorts a laugh, covering his smile behind his hand, and then legitimately wolf-whistles. It startles a delighted laugh from Shiro.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to do that,” Shiro laughs.

“Special occasions only,” Keith says, and even his grin looks a bit wolfish. “You make a really good peacock, Shiro.”

“Thanks,” Shiro laughs, letting the tailfeathers drop back down, training behind him in a pool of fabric and artful featherwork. “I feel a little ridiculous in this.”

“No, really,” Keith says, insistent. “You look good. You, um… I don’t know. You have the shoulders and thighs for it. That entire thing’s going to swallow me whole.”

Shiro looks down at himself, blushing, and steps aside so Keith can change into his accompanying outfit. While he’s gone, Shiro stares at his thighs in the mirror, the fabric framing them through the high-low hemline.

“Well,” he calls through the door, “at least we don’t have to worry about extra sleeves this time, or my arm.”

That’s one benefit to the dress— massive fabric behind them, but at least it’s sleeveless. He hears Keith chuckle in response.

Keith returns a moment later and Shiro finds himself staring. Keith, of course, looks handsome in the dress-wear. Shiro’s outfit tends more towards emerald greens and sapphire blues, but Keith’s is more understated: a deep forest green and an earthy tone beneath coloring the trousers and under-tunic that hugs around his neck. The colors emphasize the vibrancy of Keith’s eyes.

The clothes are clingy in all the right places, curved around Keith’s shoulders and hips, emphasizing his small waist. The trousers are clingy, the dress sweeping down to the ground behind him in that similarly massive train, although with far less feathers.

“I’m the peahen,” Keith says with all the sage wisdom such a strange statement can afford him.

Shiro covers his face and groans. “I’ll trade you.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Keith says and steps closer, adjusting the drape of the fabric over Shiro’s chest for him. “You’re a prettier peacock than I’d be.”

He pats Shiro on the chest and steps back. He retreats to the table, picks up one of the bottles of alcohol, and takes a massive swig. Shiro stares at the column of his throat and the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows.

Then Keith clears his throat, steps closer, and offers his arm to Shiro. “Shall we, Admiral?”

Shiro laughs and loops his arm through Keith’s. “Lead the way, Captain.”

-

It takes them a while to move from their penthouse to the _Khael_ ’s residence simply because they keep tripping over their dresses.

“At least we’re not getting caught in doorways,” Shiro says. Seems it’d be a difficult task to do so, what with the massive height of the entryways. It makes sense, considering the height of many of the residents.

Once they make it to the main hall, though, it’s worth it: it’s a marvel, architecturally. Shiro doesn’t have the vocabulary for it, but he’s always loved to see these subtle differences in the planets they visit. Everything is tall and curved, just like the Anterrilytes themselves, colossal and nearly cathedral in its structure. He thought that Elzie was tall before, but she’s clearly nothing in comparison to some of the residents. They stretch so tall, meters and meters high, even taller than some of the tallest Galra that Shiro’s met.

Elzie is there to meet them, approaching them in a few quick strides with a small bow of her head. “Paladins! We’re honored to see you’ve decided to attend.”

Shiro smiles up at her politely. “We’re honored to have been invited.”

They exchange some pleasantries and then Elzie trots them out to meet a few other dignitaries. The _Khael_ herself, a mountainous woman who gushes at them both, and her advisors besides, a series of people who bow their heads with varying levels of interest and politeness. Little bursts of color crown their temples, mostly yellow but some that clear wispy white. Shiro can’t begin to fathom what each means, but trusts that they’re not screwing anything up.

They’re less than a varga in and Shiro’s already exhausted. It just emphasizes how tired he is of diplomacy, of talking rather than doing. By the end of the train of diplomats and politicians, Shiro’s ready for another drink.

Keith seems to be of the same mind. His hand finds the small of Shiro’s back, protective and guiding as they move towards the drinks table.

“We can’t drink like monsters here, I think,” Shiro says as he pops open two smaller bottles with his metal thumb and hands one to Keith. “It’d probably look unprofessional or something.”

Keith rolls his eyes, not at Shiro but at the concept. “Want to challenge one of them to a drinking contest? Easy way to win GAC.”

“Keith!” Shiro says, unable to disguise his amusement. He bumps his hip against Keith’s. “Behave.”

Keith sips his drink to hide his smile.

Elzie finds them once again. Shiro sees her coming and lets loose the softest sigh. It isn’t her fault, or anyone’s fault— they’ve only been kind and accommodating, but he feels itchy all over, struggling to be properly diplomatic.

“Paladins,” Elzie says. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. The _Khael_ was so honored to meet you and she was hoping you’d be willing to dance? It’s quite the honor in our culture.”

Shiro darts a glance towards the dance floor, where trios swirl together. The _Khael_ is there with two of her advisors, interlocked. There are a few pairs dancing together, too, but the grand majority appears to be trios.

Shiro opens his mouth to answer but feels Keith’s arm curl tight around his waist, tugging him in close. It’s a protective hold, Keith’s hand cupping his hip and holding tight.

“I already promised the big guy here my first dance,” Keith says simply, unabashed and uncompromising. There’s no room for debate in his tone: he’s dancing with Shiro and Shiro only first. “We’d be honored to dance with the _Khael_ in a little while… In our culture, it’s important we don’t break promises.”

“Of course!” Elzie says, sparkling yellow bursting from the crown of her head. “We wouldn’t want to disrupt your traditions, either. By all means, mates should dance together.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, setting down his drink. The hand on Shiro’s hip slides up, ghosting across his waist, and then finds Shiro’s hand. He grins. “Shiro,” he says, voice hushed and reverent. “Dance with me.”

He takes a step back then, towards the dance floor, and nearly trips on his dress. Shiro’s there to catch him, his metal hand smoothing around the small of Keith’s back in turn to steady him. It’s nearly suffocating, to feel the strength of Keith’s body beneath his palm, how massive his hand spans across Keith’s body.

“You promised me moves,” Keith says, grinning still. He finds his footing, tugging Shiro out on the dance floor. Once they’re outside earshot with Elzie, he whispers, “And I definitely don’t want to do a weird third wheel dance with a president, do you?”

Shiro laughs. “Keith, that’s rude.”

He doesn’t deny it, though, and he sees the moment Keith notices that, too. He barks a laugh, clasping both of Shiro’s hands and yanking him the rest of the way onto the dance floor.

“Besides,” Keith says. “They look like they’re going to eat you alive.”

“What? They’ve been nice,” Shiro protests.

Keith scoffs. “Shiro… No. I mean—” His mouth twitches, amused and mortified as his cheeks turn pink. “Okay. Remember Airi?”

Shiro frowns. “What about him?”

“How he was flirting with me and I didn’t realize?”

Shiro frowns deeper, his cheeks turning pink. “And?”

Keith gives him an overly fond look. “ _Shiro._ The Anterrilytes _want to eat you alive._ Get it?”

Shiro startles to a stop, nearly tripping over his feet and crashing straight into Keith. Keith’s hands lift to steady against his chest and Keith grins at him.

“T- they are not flirting with me,” Shiro protests.

“Oh, they _are_ ,” Keith says, grinning now. His eyes blaze in the pretty light of the ballroom, fierce and certain. “Oh, Mister Black Paladin, sir, can I have your autograph? Oh, Mister Black Paladin, sir, please tell me what foods you’d like to eat most? Oh, Mister Black Paladin, sir, here’s our most extravagant outfit just for you so you’ll look so beautiful and majestic. Oh, Mister—”

“Stop!” Shiro gasps, laughing through a mix of embarrassment and mortification. “Okay, I get it!”

“Of course you wouldn’t notice women flirting with you,” Keith grumbles with an overly fond eye roll. He curls his arms around Shiro’s waist, tugging him in closer. “You can call me your hero again, by the way. Saved you from awkward flirting encounters.”

Shiro’s still feeling a little thunderstruck by the concept. Keith’s right, though— he tends to never notice when women flirt with him. Lately, if he’s honest, he never notices when men are, either. If they’re not Keith, then it doesn’t matter.

He drapes his arms over Keith’s shoulders all the same. “ _My goddamn hero._ ” Quickly, he adds, “Not that there’s anything wrong with women flirting—”

“Oh my god, Shiro,” Keith laughs, squeezing Shiro in his hold. “It’s okay. I get it.”

Shiro laughs, too, helplessly. He looks around— there are a few other dancing couples, but he’s not familiar with the style of dance. He watches them for a moment, trying to get a sense of how they’re moving and dancing, but it’s so strangely attuned to the flow of their bodies that Shiro’s not sure if they’d even be able to mimic it.

He turns to Keith and says, “I think we’re winging it.”

“Just the way I like it,” Keith says with a chuckle. He pulls Shiro in closer.

It’s a bit like holding Keith in their little bed, in the end. Keith presses his chest up to Shiro’s, his arms looped around his waist, leaving Shiro with his arms draped over Keith’s shoulders. They laugh as they look at each other and start swaying. It’s barely dancing at all so much as it’s a strangely moving hug.

There was a time when Shiro hated dancing like this. There’s no rhythm to it, no beat. It’s just swaying and holding one another. But after so long holding Keith in their bed together, this feels like an extension of that, like an extension of breathing.

They move together and it’s easy.

No one tries to correct them on their form, either. Keith looks comfortable, his cheek pressed to Shiro’s chest. His eyes are half-hooded, his smile a warm flicker across his face. He holds Shiro tight.

“These are hardly my moves,” Shiro confesses as they sway.

Keith snorts. “Dancing is just feeling,” he says, with more wisdom than he thinks Keith should have, considering he’s never actually seen Keith dance. “You just do what feels right.”

“Like flying,” Shiro says and Keith bubbles out a soft laugh, squeezing his arms around Shiro’s waist.

“Exactly.”

They sway like that, the fabric and feathers of their dresses swirling around them. It feels good, infinitely good, to hold Keith in his arms.

Keith hesitates, just swaying with Shiro, and then glances up at him. He licks his lips and Shiro tries very hard not to stare at that.

“Shiro… does it feel right to you?”

Shiro knows Keith doesn’t mean it in any lofty or weighted sort of way. And yet, still, Shiro feels his heart kick up a beat in his chest.

“Everything with you feels right,” he says and wants to flinch at how overly honest he sounds.

Keith looks pleased, though, his expression softening. “Yeah.” The flush of Keith’s cheeks looks nice against the green, too. “My point,” Keith says quietly, “is that it doesn’t matter if we’re doing it right if it feels right. If you’re having fun.”

“When’d you become so wise?” Shiro teases.

Keith laughs. “Must have learned it from you.”

Shiro blushes, dancing with Keith, pressing his big hands to the small of Keith’s back. So slight, but so powerful. He can feel how strong Keith is beneath his hands. It’s almost too much.

They keep swaying like that, slowly moving in a circle of space. Their movements are slow and slight enough that they never manage to trip over their ridiculous bird dresses. The other dancers swirl around them, following the steps they all seem to know. But it doesn’t bother Shiro that they’re on the outskirts, absorbed only in each other.

Shiro dips his head down, his forehead resting against the crown of Keith’s head. Keith’s been getting taller over the years, but Shiro doubts he’ll grow taller than him. There’s something nice in holding him like this, being able to curve protectively around him. Having him here.

“Remember what the _Khael_ said earlier?” Keith asks after a long silence. Shiro hums in Keith’s hair, encouraging him to continue. “Your lava pools look best at night, when the moons haven’t yet risen. You can really see the color.”

“Oh yeah,” Shiro agrees. He recalls her saying as much in the rush of other pleasantries they exchanged.

“We can go tomorrow,” Keith says. “Unless we’re getting roped into another party.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“And just to be clear,” Keith says. “I’m the one taking you. Not the _Khael_. Who was, by the way, implying you two should go together, just the two of you.”

Shiro groans. “God, okay, I get it! People flirt with me and I never notice!”

Keith laughs. And, with that, he swivels a step, grabs Shiro securely around his middle, and dips him. Shiro lets out a small gasp of surprise, nearly flailing. But Keith is strong, sturdy, and sure when he holds Shiro— and there’s no danger of him falling.

Shiro bursts out laughing, surprised and delighted. Keith’s grin is a wild thing, unreserved and brilliant, his hair falling in his eyes, his cheeks pink. He rights Shiro quickly but looks utterly pleased with himself.

“It’s not your fault,” Keith says, thighs perfectly tensed with the way he holds up Shiro’s weight, his bare arms flexed and perfect. Shiro kind of wants to lick them, actually.

“What?” Shiro asks as Keith rights him again, continuing their swaying. Keith’s fingertips trace along Shiro’s hips.

“They’re the ones who are being really weird about it. By their logic,” Keith says, “we’re mates and yet they’re not going for a trio and just pairing off with you? How does that make sense?”

“Must be a cultural thing,” Shiro says, his face flushing red. “They’re probably fascinated we aren’t betraying our feelings via sparkles and want to figure us out.”

Keith laughs. “They _do_ look like sparkles, don’t they?”

“Maybe they like short guys,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts. “Maybe?”

Instead of saying more, Shiro returns Keith’s favor. He spins Keith in his arms and dips him down low.

Keith goes into a back-bend easily, one leg popping up. He makes it look easy, sinuous and pristine. He grins up at Shiro, boneless in Shiro’s hands and looking ethereal and elegant. He doesn’t stop grinning even once Shiro rights him.

“Why, Admiral,” Keith says around his grin, barely restraining his laughter. “Who knew you had such fancy footwork?”

“You have no idea, Captain Keith,” Shiro teases, taking Keith’s hand and spinning him beneath his arm, leading him through a few complicated swing-steps that run counter to the music.

Keith doesn’t seem to care, letting Shiro lead him and laughing. A few of the dancing couples and trios cast them looks but seem unwilling to interrupt the Paladins of Voltron, so they leave them to their antics. They give Shiro and Keith a wide berth, but it hardly matters— Shiro only has eyes for Keith.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Shiro wakes up with Keith in his arms, the sunlight of Anterrilyn streaming in through the gauzy curtains, windows open to the morning breeze. It’s a quiet morning, the endless bustling of the capital city muted by the gardens and walls within the _Khael_ ’s residence.

There’s the entire day before nightfall when they’ll visit the lava pools, so Shiro and Keith indulge in a lazy morning. Keith orders breakfast and takes a shower while Shiro lounges in bed, scooting over to make room for the wolf when he hops up to flop across Shiro’s stomach.

“Oof,” Shiro says pointedly but then laughs, scrubbing his hands through the wolf’s fur, doing his best to breathe while crushed beneath the wolf’s weight. He waits until he hears the water shut off before he calls, “I think the wolf’s gotten bigger.”

The wolf gives him an affronted look.

“Don’t worry,” Shiro tells him. “It’s a good thing. Very majestic.”

The wolf stares into his eyes, huffs, and then flops his head back down onto Shiro’s chest with a heavy thump. It knocks the air from Shiro’s lungs but he busies himself with petting the wolf again until Keith emerges from the washroom, dressed and hair damp as he towels it dry.

“Is our food here yet?” he asks.

“Not yet.”

The morning passes easily like that, eating their food and getting ready for the day. When their breakfast arrives, they eat out on the balcony, people-watching and talking about very little.

Keith still looks a little sleep-soft, even once they get the Anterrilyte equivalent of coffee. Shiro sips his slowly, nursing it. It has a natural sweetness that Terran coffee lacks and it feels a little too intense this early in the morning.

He watches Keith over the lip of his mug, his hair still damp from his shower and curling over his ears. He has his chin tucked in his palm, staring out past the balcony railing and watching Anterrilytes sway across the large plaza connecting the _Khael_ ’s buildings.

“See anything you like?” Shiro finally asks once they’ve fallen into a steady, comfortable silence for several minutes.

Keith’s mouth twitches with a barely suppressed smile. He drags his eyes away from people-watching to cast a fond look at Shiro. “Definitely,” he says, laughing to himself now and taking a long gulp of his coffee. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Keith shrugs. “Thinking about improvements we could do to LP next time.”

Shiro’s heart leaps in his chest at the mention of _next time._ He tilts his head, trying to tamp down on his eagerness. “Like?

“Few things,” Keith says, “I should make a list or write it down, actually. Gotta fiddle with the water synthesizer and see if I can fix that green thing, since you hate it so much.”

“Green water is weird, Keith,” Shiro says, insisting. “I don’t want to drink green water.”

Keith rolls his eyes dramatically. “Big baby. So, green water. Also stabilize the fuel dispensary in the second quadrant engine… it keeps doing that rattling thing.” He counts off on his fingers, frowning. “… Oh, and also back-up controlled overrides for the autopilot so we can drive more from the living quarters.” He smiles up at Shiro. “For lazy mornings.”

“That’s quite the list, Captain,” Shiro agrees, sipping his coffee and wrinkling his nose.

Keith laughs at his expression and wordlessly takes Shiro’s cup from him, dumping the rest of the drink into his own mug. He sets Shiro’s empty cup back down in front of him. “What about you? Anything you’d like to see changed or fixed?”

Shiro considers it. Truthfully, Shiro thinks LP is perfect because LP is _their_ ship. She’s what brought them out into the universe like this, after all. He and Keith have tinkered with machines in the past— hoverbikes, mostly— and neither of them quite have what could be called an engineering or mechanical background or mind. Keith definitely is more predisposed to it than Shiro is, and he’s not about to dismiss the fact that they built a ship together from scratch, but Shiro figures that Keith’s not asking him for advice on wallpaper.

But, still: “Maybe paint the walls.” He tries and fails to hold back his smile. “Would love to see a good floral wallpaper in the living quarters.”

Keith snorts. He rolls his eyes again, but the sparkle betrays his amusement. He closes his eyes, drinking the last of their coffee and lets out a small sigh once he swallows. “Seriously? _Floral_?”

“I like flowers,” Shiro protests. At Keith’s incredulous look, Shiro laughs, shaking his head, and insists, “No, really. I like them a lot.”

“Wait, really?” Keith asks. “You’re not teasing?”

Shiro shakes his head, blushing. “I love flowers.”

Keith blinks a few times, tilting his head. He looks positively perplexed and, adorably enough, much like the space wolf does whenever he’s listening to them speak— head tilt and all. It makes Shiro’s smile soften, warmed in a way he can’t quite explain.

“I’ve never seen you with flowers,” Keith says.

“I mean, not a ton of them grow in the desert, right?” Shiro says. “And they’re not regulation.”

“Plenty grow in the desert,” Keith says. He shakes his head again, frowning thoughtfully now. “Wow. I really had no idea.”

“You’re not expected to know everything about me, Keith,” Shiro says, laughing. “You already know more than most.”

Keith taps his fingers against the table they’re sitting at and levels Shiro with a long, thoughtful look. “What’s your favorite flower?”

“Peonies.”

Keith smiles. “That was fast.”

“Half-expected me to say something like stargazer lilies or cosmos?” Shiro asks, teasing. “It’d be thematic.”

Keith laughs, brighter than before. “I don’t even know what those look like.”

“You’d know them if you saw them,” Shiro assures. “And for the record, I also like stargazer lilies and cosmos.”

“Noted,” Keith says with a hum. “I’ll get us floral wallpaper, then.”

“I _was_ kidding about that.”

“Too late,” Keith says. “Captain’s orders. It’s happening.”

They both laugh about it again, the sound of their amusement ringing through the air. Shiro’s sure that if they could emote like the Anterrilytes could, he would be full of sparkles. He smiles at Keith and eats the rest of his breakfast, snagging the cantaloupe-like fruit from Keith’s plate when it’s clear he’s not about to start eating it.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you like flowers,” Keith says.

“It’s not a bad thing that we still have things left to learn about each other.” He knows he sounds a bit like a lecturer with that tone, slipping easily into the neutral leadership voice. He knows Keith can see right through it, not insulted by the tone if his small smile is any indication. Inwardly, Shiro feels his heart pounding, thrilled at the idea of Keith knowing something new about him now.

“True,” Keith agrees after a pause. He swirls his finger around the lip of the mug. “So… what happens once there’s nothing left for me to learn about you, huh?”

“It’ll mean you know me completely,” Shiro says. “That’s not a bad thing, either.”

Keith looks up at him then, his eyes shining in the light. His smile dims for only a moment into something thoughtful, almost serene, before it returns again full-bloomed: beautiful and cosmic.

“I already know you,” Keith says. There’s a note of petulance to the tone despite the soft smile, the smallest whisper of a question.

“You do,” Shiro agrees instantly, not even hesitating. He reaches out across the table and covers Keith’s hand with his, squeezing it once. “There’s no one in the universe who knows me better than you do, Keith.”

Keith nods. “Nobody knows me like you do, too.”

They sit like that, looking into one another’s eyes, Shiro’s hand curled easily around Keith’s. It feels like a moment in suspension, a moment when anything could happen. Keith looks at him, expression sweet and open, his eyes sparkling in the Anterrilyte sun, and Shiro feels like a thousand flowers starting to bloom.

He imagines what he could say. _Nobody loves you like I do, also._ Or, maybe, he could say it without words— lean across the table and kiss Keith. On the cheek first, to test it, then slide to catch his mouth with his, to watch the way Keith’s eyes flutter shut, his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. Shiro imagines the blush that might bloom there, how perfect Keith would feel cupped in Shiro’s hands.

He thinks of last night— how good Keith looked dancing with him, how perfect it felt to be in his arms.

“Anyway,” Keith says, interrupting Shiro’s thoughts. Shiro watches him turn his head to look back out at the day, the sunlight kissing his cheeks. “We should get ready to head out, right? Just because we don’t need to be at the lava pools until nightfall doesn’t mean we should loaf around in here all day.”

He turns his hand to catch Shiro’s before he stands, tugging Shiro onto his feet, too. He doesn’t let go until he’s pulled Shiro several steps back inside their suite.

Shiro misses the touch like a missing limb. And he should know what that feels like, too.

They dress for the day, packing up some snacks and layers for their inevitable hike to the lava pools, nestled inside a protected nature reserve just outside the city’s limits. The wolf follows along as Shiro tugs off his old shirt and hunts for a clean one to wear that Keith hasn’t pilfered.

It’s definitely slim-pickings. It occurs to Shiro, in all the time he’s been traveling with Keith, that he’s only seen Keith wear one of his own shirts once or twice.

It makes Shiro blush. And he can’t even return the favor: he’s fairly certain he won’t fit in Keith’s shirt.

He does manage to find a somewhat-clean shirt among the supplies Elzie gave them— nothing quite so ornate or dramatic as the peacock dress, thankfully— and turns.

Keith’s on the other side of the room, shrugging into a loose-fitting coat over his shirt (Shiro’s shirt) and his hands reach up, bundling his hair up and slinging it into a bun.

As soon as Shiro registers the look, he loses all motor function in his hands, dropping the knapsack full of snacks he’d been packing at the table. It hits the ground with a pointed thump.

“Oh—”

“What?” Keith asks, turning to look at him with a laugh. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Shiro says and wonders if his voice sounds as squeaky to Keith as it does to him. He swallows, stooping down quickly to grab the backpack and nearly slamming his forehead against the table for his troubles.

Keith doesn’t press him on it, approaching the table to help pack up the second backpack before pulling it up onto his shoulder. He looks far too striking like this, wearing Shiro’s shirt and a loose jacket, tight-fitting leggings and his hair in a messy bun, some of the looser, shorter strands falling forward to frame his face.

Keith’s never worn his hair in a bun like this before, at least from what Shiro can remember. And Shiro’s fairly certain he’d remember. He’s definitely going to remember how good Keith looks like this— how much Shiro _likes_ it.

“Ready to head out?” Keith asks. His eyes glitter with amusement when he asks, “Can you even wear a backpack with that shoulder?”

“Ha ha,” Shiro says and makes a big show of shrugging on the backpack, letting the strap slip past his port and settle easily on his shoulder. “You’re hilarious, Keith.”

Keith grins at him, all teeth and slightly pointed fangs, and snatches Shiro’s hand again, tugging once and guiding him towards the door. He calls for the wolf, who darts after them as they toe on their shoes and slip out into the hallway.

Shiro tries to wait an appropriate length of time to not be super obvious when he says “I, um, I like your hair. In the bun. Like that. It’s nice.”

Keith pauses, laughing a little, his cheeks turning pink as he lifts his free hand. He touches his hair, as if to remind himself of what it looks like. “You think so?”

“It really has been growing,” Shiro says.

“Me and the wolf,” Keith laughs, dropping his hand to pet the wolf’s head when he looks up at Keith. “You’re just an expert on spotting grown things today, huh?”

“Ha ha,” Shiro says again. He feels stupid, foolish and absurd, like a little boy in love with his first crush and unable to process it. Shiro’s always been level-headed and able to act under pressure. He can’t recall ever behaving this way over any boy he liked. Only Keith can make him feel so ridiculous. Like he’s floating.

 _You make me feel like light,_ Keith said to Shiro.

Yes. Like that. Shiro thinks he knows what Keith means, walking down this hallway, watching Keith’s fond smile as he guides the wolf, his hand still tucked into Shiro’s own. Yes, Shiro feels like light.

“So,” Keith says, eyes glittering and clearly unwilling to let it go, “you like long hair, huh?”

The question somehow feels loaded. Shiro fumbles as they exit the penthouse building and step out into the morning sunlight.

“I mean, you’d look good with short hair, too,” Shiro says. “Or anything. I mean… it doesn’t matter what I like as long as you like it. It’s your hair!”

Shiro blushes, lifting his free hand and scrubbing it over his face, grumbling nonsense words. Keith laughs and squeezes his hand, seemingly undisturbed by Shiro’s stupid fumbling.

“Would I look good bald, though?” Keith asks, grinning. Teasing.

Shiro snorts a laugh, face feeling too warm. “Of course. It’d draw attention to your eyes.”

Keith laughs, loud and unrestrained, and shakes his head like Shiro’s telling a joke. Shiro wants to insist, but he already feels too exposed and stupid over the last few minutes. He’s loved Keith for so long, he knows he should have a better handle on his feelings than this. He has had a better hold in the past. He doesn’t know what’s changed to make him feel so boyish and crushing. His feelings for Keith have hardly changed.

He looks at how small Keith’s hand looks tucked against Shiro’s palm.

Well, he thinks, his ears turning warm as the blush travels upwards. Maybe that’s not what’s changed.

-

Keith and Shiro spend the morning and afternoon traveling the city. As far as alien metropolitan cities go, Anterrilyn’s capital feels like many others. There are coffee shops on every corner (or, at least, shops for the coffee equivalent here that leaves Shiro wondering if all varieties are so sweet) and the six-legged transportation buses and cars. The Anterrilytes they pass sparkle in greeting and dote on the wolf.

It’s, overall, a really nice day— they rest for several varga at a restaurant, saving their energy for their evening hike. It’s easy, as always, to fall into that companionable silence with Keith, talking about everything and nothing.

As sunset approaches, they take the six-legged bus to the nature reserve just outside the city limits, stepping off just as the sky starts to darken on the distant horizon. The wolf weaves around them and then darts forward, sniffing the ground, his tail wagging.

“Now that he knows where we are, he’ll be able to zap us back to the room,” Keith says, following the wolf.

“Convenient,” Shiro says and Keith chuckles in agreement.

The trees on Anterrilyn are much like the Anterrilytes themselves: tall and wavy, undulating in the soft breeze like they’re made of tissue paper. The leaves are translucent, reflecting the setting sun and casting the ground with eerie shadows.

Shiro expects it to be a gentle hike, quiet and peaceful. The path they walk is lined with little green lights, keeping them from wandering into the underbrush. It feels less like a natural path through trees, like on Olkarion, and more like a purposefully laid road: stones and gravel line it, much like the city roads.

They turn a corner and the path is clogged with people. Not Anterrilytes alone, but any manner of species— Shiro sees some Galra, some Unilu, even one very confused-looking Olkari. He frowns, glancing at Keith beside him. Keith shrugs.

“Guess it’s the weekend or something,” Keith says, laughing.

They weave their way through the crowd, trying to continue down the path once they realize the aliens aren’t loitering, but queued up for a souvenir stand. The booth, manned by a tired-looking Anterrilyte man, has postcards, cameras, and hats, all emblazoned with the name of the nature reserve. There are lava lamps pooling green blobs behind him.

“They’re really proud of their lava,” Keith says in a low murmur as they get past the crowd and continue their walk.

Shiro laughs. “Is that your way of saying that you want a lava lamp?”

“Don’t you dare get me one,” Keith says. He cranes his neck, peering down the path. “Maybe they’ll have a flower stand and I can get you some green cosmos or something.”

Shiro nudges his shoulder with his, teasing, and Keith laughs as he sways away. He bumps back against Shiro easily enough.

Shiro’s heart gives a pathetic thump when Keith’s hand finds his, threading their fingers together. They walk down the path together, holding hands, and it feels easy, like it’s always been this way.

Keith catches him glancing down at their hands, though. His smile turns shy when he says, “Don’t want to get lost in the crowd, right?”

“Right,” Shiro says in a quiet voice, unwilling to look deeper into it, but desperately wanting to.

Keith’s choice to hold hands turns out to be a prudent one. The path becomes thicker with people the further they walk it, and while there are no flower stands, there are other convenience stands along the hike— souvenirs, fried food like funnel cake, and another not-coffee stand. There are little paths that off-shoot to smaller lava-pools and their observation decks, but it’s impossible to even contemplate approaching them for all the crowds of people blocking the way. When Shiro tries to look over their heads (no easy feat with the number of Galra and Anterrilytes in the crowd, towering far above him), it’s impossible to get even a glimpse at the lava.

“You know,” Shiro says about a varga later when they’re still walking towards the furthest point— the main lava pools and their observation deck— “I was kind of picturing a peaceful, quiet walk to the lava when I pictured coming here.”

As if punctuating the irony of the statement, a Galra family shoulders past Shiro and Keith, nearly knocking Shiro into the wolf and tripping all three of them up. The Galra mother apologies quickly over her shoulder, at least, which lessens the sting of it. Shiro can’t blame her: he’s not sure if he could corral five Galra toddlers so easily.

“Yeah, me too,” Keith says. “But I guess it makes sense. Anterrilyn’s a big planet and in a central location in the galaxy.”

Still, it becomes necessary to hold Keith’s hand when they try to enter a massive swell of a crowd. He feels the stretch of Keith’s arm as the sea of people starts to drift them away from each other. Keith clings tight to Shiro’s hand.

Shiro tugs him back towards him, maybe being a bit rude when it sends an Unilu man skirting backwards to avoid them, but it only makes Keith laugh as he trips in closer. He flops forward, leaning against Shiro’s chest.

“I hate people,” Keith grumbles into Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro pats him on the back. “We’re almost there.”

As they get closer to the main pools, Shiro starts to smell it on the air: heat and lava, something primordial and ashy.

The closer they get, though, the more the air fills not just with the scent of lava, but little firefly-like insects. They float through the air around them, flickering on and off. They’re a similar emerald green to everything else on Anterrilyn.

They seem to dot the path, guiding them along much like the lights lining the path. Shiro’s not sure if they’re organic life or something created for the effect. He can’t get close enough to them to see if they’re little drones or actual insects.

It’s one of the slowest hikes Shiro’s ever been on. The smallest mercy, Shiro thinks, is that there’s no way this is going to cause him phantom muscle pain tomorrow— it’s felt more like a moseying walk through a garden than a hike of several kilometers.

They emerge at the top of a gentle incline to the main lava pools. Unlike the small branches off along the way, this observation deck is massive to accommodate the crowds. It stretches and curves around the main pool of lava bubbling in the distance, and as they break free from the Anterrilyte trees, the air smells thickly of smolder and ember, something almost sulfuric.

The space around them is full of those green fireflies, floating gently through the air without a sound.

With more room for the crowd to breathe, it feels less claustrophobic, at least. Keith and Shiro have to walk a long way before they can find a spot on the observation deck where they can press to the railing and actually see the lava. They nearly walk around the entire circumference of the lava pool to get there. There are plenty of people around, still, but at least they aren’t knocking elbows.

Keith lets go of Shiro’s hand to fold his arms over the railing, leaning forward to stare out at the view. Shiro misses the warmth of his palm immediately, sighing as he mimics Keith’s pose. He rolls one ankle and then the other, working out any lingering tightness form the stilted walk.

After all the build-up, Shiro has to acknowledge to himself that the lava pits, while beautiful, are not the most beautiful thing in the world. They do indeed stretch a vibrant emerald green, roiling in thick, plasmatic droves. The lava looks something like waves in a lake, cascading towards the lava tube that’ll send it down towards the other offshoot branches along the path.

The lava is striking. That much Shiro can acknowledge: he’s never seen green lava before and he’s grateful to know that he can travel to different worlds and see this. But, at the same time, the entire experience hasn’t exactly been what he expected.

He isn’t necessarily disappointed, but he isn’t blown away, either. He pulls out his PADD and snaps a picture before he turns to Keith with his eyebrows lifted.

“Sure is green lava,” he declares.

Keith snorts a laugh and elbows him hard in the side. “Come on, is that really all you’re going to say?”

“That water planet was prettier,” Shiro says, admitting it in a quiet voice, and not just because he nearly kissed Keith there, not just because he got to jump off a cliff while skinny-dipping with Keith. Hell, Olkarion has a prettier sort of majesty to its forests than this.

Shiro looks around them, at the crowds of people, the booths of merchandise, the paved road and the industrial lights lining the path, the insects that might not be insects— and realization sets in like a heavy slap to the face.

Shiro ducks his head and groans.

“What?” Keith asks, alarmed. His hand comes up to cup Shiro’s shoulder.

“It’s a tourist trap, Keith,” Shiro says with only the deepest agony. “I brought us to a tourist trap.”

“Wh—” Keith stops. Shiro watches realization dawn on his face, too, as the surroundings snap into sharper focus. And then Keith’s mouth wobbles, like he’s fighting back a burst of laughter.

“Go ahead,” Shiro says. “Laugh.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s— _it’s a tourist trap, Shiro._ ”

Shiro nods solemnly.

Keith whacks him hard on the shoulder, still fighting back a smile. He tries to speak with only the deepest gravity, but it’s clearly a struggle. “You’re such a snob. What’s wrong with tourist traps?”

“Nothing,” Shiro says. “I just… we’ve seen more exciting sights.”

“Not everyone had the benefit of traveling the universe in sentient lions or ships they built themselves, Shiro,” Keith says, eyes twinkling.

“True,” Shiro says. He shrugs. “I’ve never been one for tourist traps. I’ve never even been to the Grand Canyon.”

That makes Keith stop. He blinks at him, his eyes wide. “Shiro. _What?_ ”

“What?”

“It’s literally _right there,_ ” Keith says, and this time he can’t hold back his absurd smile— sparking to life and wide, shaking his head in disbelief. “How have you never been to the Grand Canyon?”

“I just never had the time!” Shiro says. “I came to Arizona to attend the Garrison! I just… never got around to it.”

“I can’t believe you,” Keith says. “I’m taking you to the damn Grand Canyon once we get home. What the actual hell, Shiro?”

Keith’s theatrical disbelief and outrage only makes Shiro feel warm all over, and not just because of the lava wafting heat in the distance. “I can’t believe,” he says with the utmost seriousness, “we traveled across the universe, ran away from the Garrison, left Earth dramatically… so that we could go to a tourist trap. I let myself get kidnapped by a roguish captain,” he says, tapping his foot against Keith, “for _this_?”

That’s what finally does it: Keith bursts out laughing, ducking his head and letting his shoulders shake.

Shiro can’t help but laugh, too. Keith drifts closer to him and Shiro’s there to catch him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tethering him close as they both laugh.

It makes sense, in hindsight— how else would Shiro have heard about Anterrilyn and their famous green lava pools if not for a massive tourism campaign on Anterrilyn’s part?

They must be drawing attention from the surrounding crowds, their laughter breaking through the quiet din from the clusters of people. But Shiro doesn’t care. He laughs and feels Keith laughing, too. Shiro wraps his arms around Keith and feels Keith do the same until they’re hugging, leaning against one another and _laughing._

“So… what now?” Keith asks once he catches his breath, looking up at Shiro. His eyes reflect the green light from the lava and the maybe-fireflies.

Shiro lets his hands run down Keith’s back and feels him shiver. His hands linger, perhaps a moment too long, before he lets go and looks back towards the lava.

“Well, we’ve come all this way. We might as well appreciate the majesty of nature,” Shiro says. He glances over at Keith in time to see him bark a laugh and shake his head fondly.

Shiro leans heavily against the railing, looking less at the lava pools and more at Keith. The fireflies around them seem to circle Keith, floating in their eerily green glow.

Keith notices Shiro’s stance, eyebrows lifting as he parrots Shiro— leaning back against the railing, too, and peering up at Shiro.

Once again, Shiro finds himself lost in Keith’s eyes, just holding his gaze.

Keith smiles, slow and a little shy. “Is this appreciating the majesty of nature?”

“Maybe I am,” Shiro says as one of the fireflies lands on the top of Keith’s head. It’s so gentle, so light, that he doesn’t think Keith even notices.

“Lava’s that way, big guy.” He tilts his head, jerking towards the lava without breaking his eyes away.

“So it is.”

Keith grins then, cheeks burning red. He doesn’t look upset, though, even when Shiro pointedly keeps his eyes on Keith instead of looking at the green lava. Even just this small act feels too revealing, too much. But Keith hardly seems angry or uncomfortable. In fact, his grin just grows and he hums, staring into Shiro’s eyes like a dare.

Shiro draws in a deep breath, his heart racing a mile a minute. He holds himself steady, adrenaline coursing through his veins even though he hasn’t done or said anything. _Flirting_ , he reminds himself, a tentative hope unfurling in his chest. Keith’s grin softens into a pleased smile, his cheeks a pleasant pink, and he doesn’t look away from Shiro.

“What?” Keith finally asks, laughter in his voice.

Shiro lets the breath back out again. He’s faced down tougher battles than this. Really, he should be embarrassed by how absurdly he’s handling this entire situation.

“Have I ever, um…” Shiro pauses, unsure if he should say this, if it’s somehow too much, if it’ll somehow give him away. Somehow everything else he’s done has yet to betray him. Or so he hopes. He swallows. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re really pretty?”

The words hover in the air, gone from him and unable to call back. Shiro feels himself go breathless once he releases the words, his heart a hummingbird in his chest. He holds his breath. He waits.

“I— _what_?” Keith squeaks, absolutely startled. His face heats less red now and more a gorgeous plum color, visible even in the near-darkness.

Doubt slams hard into Shiro’s chest at Keith’s reaction. “Sorry,” he says quickly, breath hitching. “Was that weird to say? Really weird, right?”

He tries to laugh— like it’s a joke, like he doesn’t mean it. But, he does. Of course he does. Keith is _beautiful._ He looks too pretty, standing in the green light of the lava, a crown of fireflies circling above him, his hair in a messy bun and his eyes too bright and too perfect. _You make me feel like light._

The strangled laugh dies in his throat. No. It’s no joke at all. He means it.

Keith’s hand lifts, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear self-consciously, his thumb dragging across the scar on his cheek in his familiar tic. It lingers there, like he’s thinking, his eyes dipped down to stare at their feet and splaying his eyelashes across his cheeks.

When he looks back up at Shiro again, his smile looks smaller, private and tucked into the corners of his lips. “Not weird,” he tells Shiro in a low voice. “I’m… nobody’s really told me that before.”

“They should,” Shiro insists.

Keith shakes his head, laughing and blushing. He looks pleased, at least, if a little shy. He fiddles with his hair some more, untying it from its bun and redoing it. The strands that fell out before fall out again, too, kissing along Keith’s jaw and the nape of his neck.

The rearrangement of his hair sends the firefly floating away, hovering around Keith as if just waiting for the opportunity to land on him again.

“I’m not used to it.” Keith glances away and then belligerently back at Shiro, holding his gaze. “I guess you’ve always complimented me, huh?”

“I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Keith shakes his head. “It doesn’t.”

“More people should tell you these things,” Shiro says, insisting. The idea that Keith’s not used to being complimented, not used to receiving praise, will always make Shiro determined to do it more.

Keith shrugs. “I don’t care about other people saying it.”

He turns to look at the lava, biting his lip. After a brief pause, he turns away again, bracing his hands on the railing and hoisting himself up. Shiro’s pretty sure that’s against the rules, but things are so crowded, Shiro doubts they’ll be spotted or reprimanded, especially so far away from the opening from the path.

The new position puts Keith slightly above Shiro, in any case. Shiro’s hand strays, hovering and resting at Keith’s hip to keep him balanced. Keith hardly needs Shiro’s help, he’s sure. But Keith doesn’t scoff or react to the touch. He only smiles.

They hover like that— Keith balanced on the railing, Shiro’s hand on his hip. Shiro’s the one to look up at Keith now. Keith dips his chin, his cheeks still that pretty plum-pink, his smile small but deeply felt.

“In any case,” Keith says, voice soft. “It takes one to know one.”

“What?”

“A pretty person’s going to recognize a pretty person, right?” Keith asks, eyes glinting. When Shiro doesn’t respond, Keith’s hand falls to Shiro’s on his hip, squeezing it. “I’m calling you pretty, Shiro.”

“Oh,” Shiro says stupidly. Then he blushes as the reality sets in. “Oh!”

Keith laughs at him, delighted and a little embarrassed. “You can’t be surprised.”

Shiro shakes his head, feeling delirious as the words settle. He feels like he’s fizzing, all this jittery energy inside him threatening to bubble over. He grips Keith’s hip tight when he realizes his hand is shaking, and Keith’s hand stays pinned there, easy and sure, his delicate but strong fingers curling around Shiro’s.

“I’m not— er, not too many people would describe me as ‘pretty’, I guess,” Shiro says when he finds his voice again. He sounds hushed even to his own ears. He licks his lips and drags his eyes away from their hands and up to Keith again.

“They should,” Keith says when their eyes meet once more, his answer casual. He smiles down at Shiro. “Shiro, you’re— um. You know.”

He pauses, seeming to fumble, his smile shy.

“… Objectively speaking, you’re… super hot?” Keith says.

Shiro’s immediate response is to sputter. As soon as he does it, the embarrassment builds stronger. He’s sure his face is a bright cherry red. He’s sure he’s never going to stop blushing, never going to stop feeling quite so breathless. It’s one compliment. It shouldn’t undo him like this. It’s not the first time someone’s called him hot. It’s hardly the first time someone’s so much as hinted that he’s attractive.

But when it’s Keith? Shiro can’t breathe.

“I don’t know if it’s objective fact,” Shiro mutters, protesting and feeling stupid for it. “Attraction and attractiveness are subjective, Keith.”

“You’re not about to argue that you’re ugly, are you?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m not blind.”

That, at least, makes Keith laugh. Something eases in his eyes and he plucks Shiro’s hand off his hip. Before Shiro’s heart can drop, Keith tangles their fingers together, holding hands. He gives Shiro a pointed squeeze as he shrugs one shoulder.

“I… you know me. I don’t really pay attention or care that much about attractiveness.” He pauses, waiting, and continues once Shiro nods, “But… yeah, Shiro. Objectively. _Yes._ ”

“I—”

“Just accept the compliment,” Keith says, tilting his head towards the lava again, sending the fireflies in his hair alight. “Just accept it, Shiro. Two pretty people standing at your disappointing green lava pits.”

“You’re not standing,” Shiro says.

Keith rolls his eyes and kicks his feet out, swinging them beneath the railing. That tugs a laugh from Shiro and hearing it makes Keith’s smile soften.

“I suppose you’ve got me beat,” Shiro says, relenting. “Two pretty people are standing at the disappointing green lava pits together.”

Keith laughs again, more a giggle this time. It is, Shiro’s quite certain, the most adorable sound in the world.

Keith tilts his head, regarding the lava pits. Shiro follows his gaze. He drums his fingers on the railing, amusement and embarrassment still simmering in his chest. He’s so aware of the weight of Keith’s hand, the way their fingers thread together.

Shiro’s heart feels heavy in his chest.

The world continues around them: families and crowds of people circling the lava pools, finding their place at the railings to take pictures together and of the pools. The fireflies dance through the air.

Soon, Shiro’s sure, the double-moons will rise and the crowds will disperse as the green light dims beneath the brightness of the moons. He imagines the lava pools can’t be quite as majestic then, even less so in the daylight. Shiro wonders if it’s as crowded then or if they’ve just managed to come at peak hours.

“Will you really take me to the Grand Canyon?” Shiro asks.

It’s funny to feel excited at the idea of it— a wonder of Earth, after they’ve traveled across literal galaxies together. But then again, Earth is Earth. It’s not without its beauty. It occurs to Shiro, staring at the green lava pools— wondering if it’s at all like Hawaiian lava— that he’s never actually done much traveling on Earth itself.

Just another consequence of a longer life: he never had the time for travel, not when it was a choice between travel and achieving his dream in the short amount of time he had left.

He has time now. He has all the time in the world.

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith says with a laugh, letting go of Shiro’s hand so he can fiddle with his hair again. Shiro, once again, misses that point of contact. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Shiro laughs, mouth twitching, and looks up at Keith. Keith’s turned his head to watch the lava now, seemingly captivated by the roiling waves, its slow tide from the subterranean darkness of the planet’s crust to the cascading lava tube on the other side of the pool.

Yes, maybe not quite what they expected, but still beautiful in its own tourist-y way, Shiro thinks.

“What if I want to go to all the tourist traps on Earth?” Shiro asks. “World’s Biggest Ball of Yarn and World’s Biggest Rocking Chair… all that?”

“Then I’ll take you,” Keith vows without missing a beat.

They fall silent, watching the lava. Shiro’s aware of Keith’s eternal, steady presence next to him. If he were to look, he’d see Keith’s small smile, the plummy blush on his cheeks. If he moved closer, he’d be pressed against Keith’s thigh, bent against the railing.

Keith is beautiful. 

It’s a small victory, maybe, but Shiro’s proud of himself for saying as much to Keith. It’s hardly the compliment Keith deserves— he deserves far more than to simply know he’s beautiful— but it’s a start. The world didn’t end. Keith didn’t look at him in disgust or shock, didn’t become uncomfortable with Shiro’s words. In fact, he accepted it.

Shiro looks down at his hands on the railing, the drumming of his fingers. He takes a deep breath and lets it back out again. _Coward,_ he’d called himself on the last planet when he failed to kiss Keith. Maybe now, he can be brave. If only a little. Maybe.

“Hey, Shiro?” Keith asks, staring into the lava.

“Yes?”

Keith’s eyes trace the quiet movements of the lava, his hair glowing with fireflies. “I need some advice.”

“Oh,” Shiro says and nods. “Okay. What about?”

Keith doesn’t answer right away, silent. It feels, suddenly, less like Keith is studying the lava out of fascination and more because he needs something to look at— something that isn’t Shiro. He doesn’t seem to really be seeing the lava, just staring.

With a sigh, Keith hunches his shoulders and slips off the railing so he’s standing on solid ground again. He grips the railing with both hands, refusing to budge. He takes a deep breath and turns so he can resume his first position at the railing: arms crossed over it and leaning heavily against it.

Shiro shifts to mimic him, looking out at the lava, too, when he suspects that his eyes on Keith are making him nervous. He has no idea what it is that Keith’s about to ask him.

“There’s… something I’ve wanted to talk about, but I haven’t been able to do it yet.” Keith digs his toe into the dirt behind him, staring with concentrated intensity down into the lava.

Shiro hums, waiting for Keith to say more. But Keith seems to have lost whatever words he wanted to say, staring down at his arms with a thoughtful frown.

“Why not?” Shiro asks, gently prompting.

Keith shakes his head. “Not sure. Afraid of the answer, I guess? I don’t want to be wrong… or, I just— I don’t know how to say it.”

Shiro settles at the spot beside Keith, pressing his shoulder up against his, so their arms are flush together.

“When you’re ready to say it, I’m sure you will,” Shiro says and hopes it’s reassuring.

Keith’s mouth flickers with a smile— there and then gone again. He sighs, ducking his head. Shiro glances at the elegant arch of Keith’s neck, the curl of his hair, the shorter bits not long enough to stay in the messy bun.

Keith bites his lip, hands lifting to hook around the back of his neck, fingers laced together and buoying himself down.

“I don’t want to fuck up. I don’t want— I don’t know. To overstep or misinterpret.”

Shiro’s heart kicks up in his chest. He swallows back a slew of words that threaten to spill out. He can’t explain the way the words hit him. How, somehow, it feels like all those weighted moments between them converge on this one sentence.

Shiro doesn’t want to misinterpret, either. But he’s aware, suddenly, of the words Keith’s saying— and what he isn’t saying.

Willing himself to stay calm, Shiro says, “You’re not as impulsive as some people might say, Keith.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out again, keeping his voice as even as he can manage. “How could just asking a question be overstepping? And even if you did misinterpret something, anyone who knows you wouldn’t hold that against you.”

Keith huffs a breath. Then he turns his head, squinting up at Shiro, as if trying to read his expression. Shiro looks back at him, steady as he can. Keith’s eyes flicker away, unable to hold Shiro’s gaze now— and he scrubs his fingers up into his hair, knocking his bun looser still, most of it slipping out of its band.

“It’s about relationships,” Keith says, the words coming out in a rush of breath.

Shiro feels his breath still in his lungs— it’s confirmation, at least. His heart races faster still. It takes him a moment to remember to breathe again. He congratulates himself on his slow nod.

“Okay,” Shiro says. He almost wants to cringe. The single word sounds far too wooden.

“Sorry,” Keith says in a rush. “I don’t want to make it weird.” He cringes. “I know I made it weird on T’vinb.”

“You didn’t,” Shiro says quickly. He’d been the weird one. He waits for a painfully awkward beat and then asks, “What about relationships, Keith?”

Keith flushes and ducks his head, turning back to look at the lava. “I don’t…” He clears his throat. “I don’t really know how a lot of it works. I’ve never… well. You know. I’ve never really dated anybody before. I’ve never wanted to.”

Shiro nods his head. He remembers talking about this with Keith, once. It feels like eons ago now, some random day in the Garrison. Keith sprawled out on the roof with Shiro, staring up at the sky and telling Shiro that he doesn’t understand what the point of casual dating even is if you don’t like the person. It’d been the same day when Keith shyly admitted to liking guys, too. They’d never talked about it again after that, but to this day Shiro’s grateful Keith trusted him with those confessions.

Keith must be thinking of that day, too, if the small smile flitting across his face is any indication, his eyes soft. “I’m still not really into the whole casual dating thing.”

“That’s fine,” Shiro says quickly. “You can go at your own pace and—”

Keith laughs and some of the tension eases from his shoulders. “I _know_.”

Shiro also laughs, blushing at Keith’s scolding tone. Right. Not a lecture.

“I just— I don’t really know how to begin,” Keith admits. “I’ve never really wanted to. And I don’t know much about dating.”

“Dating is exhausting, anyway.”

“You sound so world-weary,” Keith teases.

Shiro shrugs. “I’m not— I mean. I’m not that experienced with most of that, either.”

If Shiro’s honest, he relates to Keith’s view on dating— it’s exhausting and Shiro’s never been particularly interested in casual dating or dating around. To him, it’s always been more fuss than it’s worth.

“Adam—” Shiro pauses around the name, swallowing back the emotions just saying it summons. He hasn’t let himself think about Adam often. Shiro closes his eyes, steadying himself, and pushes onward. “Adam was my first real relationship, I think. I dated a couple guys when I was a teenager, but nothing serious.”

Another thing he and Keith have never talked about. Somehow, Shiro’s dating history never really came up. Keith was there for the end of the relationship with Adam, but even once they broke up— they never really talked about it again. Adam was the first and last real relationship Shiro ever had.

And now, of course, he’s helplessly in love with his best friend. Not much desire to date others when that’s the case.

Keith heaves a sigh and turns away from the lava so he can hitch himself up onto the railing again, sitting and letting his legs swing. He can’t seem to settle in a position, agitated energy washing off him in waves. Even once he sits on the railing, he squirms, unable to relax.

Shiro’s used to that from Keith, how sometimes he can go so incredibly still and other times he can’t help but move, all that nervous energy unbottling itself. Shiro reminds himself to stay calm, to stay leveled, to not jump to conclusions. But it’s difficult not to read into the words, this topic of conversation.

Shiro swallows and looks up at Keith, offering a tentative smile. “So,” he says, prompting, unable to disguise the soft thread of hope hitching his voice up. “You’re thinking about relationships now.”

He says the words. He hears the words. And inside him, the small, stupid hope wriggles in his heart. He lets himself think about dating Keith, about telling him he loves him out here at a stupid tourist trap. He imagines that, maybe, in some roundabout way, Keith’s trying to talk to him about it. That this is his way of approaching the topic.

The thought of it is cute: Keith, too shy to say it outright. Hedging his way into it. Wanting to feel around for Shiro’s acceptance and thoughts. It doesn’t seem like Keith— steadfast, headstrong, always diving headfirst into the water. But, just as Shiro knew on T’vinb when they spoke of romance— there’s a lot about Keith in a relationship that Shiro simply doesn’t know.

Maybe relationships are the one way in which Keith can be shy, unable to say it outright. Afraid to misinterpret or say it wrong.

“I guess so,” Keith says. “So there’s— there’s, um, someone—”

“Oh,” Shiro says in a quiet voice, heart lifting in his chest, pressing into his throat.

“Back home,” Keith adds quickly, eyes glancing away.

Shiro’s heart plummets. “Oh.”

Just as quickly as he let himself hope, he feels it crushed into dust. Shiro does not let it show on his face. Instead, he takes a deep breath and turns to look at the pools. The tumbling twisting of the lava, slow and methodical, feels a lot like what his stomach is doing right now. Turning and flopping, twisting up into a painful knot. His hands don’t shake as he grips the railing, even as he feels wave after crashing wave of disappointment slam through him.

Keith likes someone. Back home.

The thought of it is _shocking_ , not for the thought of Keith liking someone— but because Keith’s never mentioned it before. He can’t even begin to think of who it could be. Back home, Keith spent so much time with _Shiro._

Keith swallows thickly beside him, kicking his feet. He’s white-knuckled where he’s gripping the railing, keeping himself upright there.

“I’m making it weird,” Keith says, shoulders tight and hitching up near his ears.

“No,” Shiro says quickly and maybe his poker face isn’t as fixed as he thought. Maybe the tension’s tumbling off him, too. “So,” he says carefully. “Someone back home. That you’re interested in.”

“Yeah.”

“Someone short?” Shiro guesses.

Keith gives him a blank look. “What?”

“You— you said you liked guys who were shorter than you,” Shiro says, fumbling, his cheeks heating up again.

Keith still looks at him blankly before realization dawns on him. “Oh. Right. Yeah.” He clears his throat. “So, I, um… If I’m interested in someone, and I… I think he’s interested in me, too… I think. If...”

“Okay.” Shiro’s voice sounds wooden again.

Anger boils in his gut, frustration with himself and his lack of enthusiasm. Keith is, above all else, his friend. His best friend. The least he can do is listen and give an earnest answer to whatever question or concern Keith wants to talk about.

But the sadness sinks through him like an anchor, dragging him beneath the surface. Disappointment. Longing.

Well. Shiro’s always known longing. That hasn’t changed. He waits for the earth to open up beneath him and swallow him whole, to plunge him into the burning heat of the lava. Maybe it’d hurt less than this.

Keith grips the railing. “How do you… know for sure if someone is interested back, I guess, is what I’m asking.” He looks up at Shiro with a hopeful look, eyes big and reflecting the glowing light of the lava and fireflies. “How do _you_ know when someone’s interested in you?”

Shiro frowns, brow pinching. The truth is— he’s been the one pursued in the few relationships he’s had. Adam flirted with him for weeks before Shiro clued into it— and only then because Adam finally asked him out, explicitly, on a date. Before that, there were the boys he dated before joining the Garrison, who all made their interest fairly known in the obvious way only clueless high school boys can. Shiro had dated them for the experience, because he was flattered, and because the guys were cute. Eventually, affection grew from that.

He’s never had to be the one to start a relationship.

Keith’s the first person where Shiro can remember feeling active longing for before anything’s even happened. He’d liked Adam even when Adam was flirting with him, but it’d been a quiet sort of knowledge, not something that left Shiro feeling ripped open and raw. Like he’s been flayed and scrubbed free of all thoughts except for desire.

He imagines it’d be fairly absurd to just blurt out that you love someone before you even date them. But then, considering all they’ve been through, how could simply telling Keith, _I like you and want to date you_ be enough? It can’t. It wouldn’t.

With Keith, Shiro feels like he’s constantly one misstep away from smashing his own heart to pieces.

“I guess it depends on the person,” Shiro says, hedging.

“But how do _you_ know?” Keith presses.

Ridiculously, Shiro feels like all those months ago, when LP was still being built, when Keith had Shiro sit in the different pilot chairs. _But which one do_ you _like_ , he’d asked then.

 _But how do_ you _know?_

Shiro takes a deep breath, trying to think of a good answer that’ll be helpful to Keith. He bites his lip, blushing. “I guess… if he makes a point of spending time with you. If he _wants_ to spend time with you.”

“Don’t friends do that, too?” Keith asks. His brow crinkles, mouth thinning into a line.

Shiro shrugs. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure.”

“That’s— I want.” Keith pauses, breathing out in frustration. “That’s my problem. Is it romantic or just friendship?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I guess it’d feel… friendship-y.”

The word _friendship-y_ hangs in the air between them. Shiro cringes as soon as he says it.

But Keith’s mouth tilts, hinting a smile. “You have no idea, huh?”

Shiro laughs, the sound almost pained but mostly embarrassed. “I’m— really bad at relationships, Keith. I don’t know if you’ve noticed that about me.”

Keith makes a sound then, something soft and disbelieving. “Says who?”

Shiro blinks. “Huh?”

“Who says you’re bad at relationships?”

Shiro opens his mouth and snaps it shut again when no words come. He gives Keith a perplexed look, unsure how to answer.

But his lack of answer seems to fuel Keith onward. Gone is the awkwardness and tentativeness. Instead, his expression darkens, something deep and molten swirling in his eyes.

“Why are you always so hard on yourself?” He sighs out. “Nevermind. I— I know why.” He grips the railing tight, his knuckles burning white. “You’re— you’re human, Shiro. Of course you’re not going to be perfect all the time. Just because one relationship ended doesn’t mean you’re bad at relationships.”

Shiro laughs, shrugging, feeling cornered all of a sudden. “Guess not. But it is the only big relationship I’ve ever had.”

“So?” Keith asks. “I’ve _never_ had a relationship and I’m the same age you were when you were dating Adam.” He shrugs. “And I know you’d never say _I’m_ bad at relationships.”

“Of course not,” Shiro says. “I can’t think of anyone who’s a better friend than you.”

Keith scoffs, expression still twisted into a scowl— anger on Shiro’s behalf. He grabs Shiro’s hand, hard, his grip almost punishing. He stares into Shiro’s eyes with such deep intensity that Shiro feels rooted to the spot, looking up at where Keith’s perched.

“You’re a good friend, too,” Keith insists. “The best. You’re a good person. I _know_ I’ve told you that you deserve everything.” He snorts. “You can say you’re bad at relationships all you want— I won’t believe it.”

The words knock Shiro breathless, off-kilter and off his axis. He sways a little, tethered by the tight grip of Keith’s hand. Once again, never for the first time, he feels unbalanced by the sheer force of Keith’s loyalty, his care for him— and all the while, Shiro fights back against the thought that he doesn’t deserve it.

“My point,” Shiro whispers, squeezing Keith’s hand, “is that if there’s someone you like and you think he likes you back— then go for it, Keith.” He clears his throat. “Like I’ve said before… Anybody would be lucky to be loved by you.”

“You deserve to be happy, too,” Keith says fiercely, hardly seeming to hear Shiro’s platitudes.

And that’s always been Keith’s way. All the things Shiro deserves, according to Keith: it’s always about Shiro. His happiness. His worth. His love. That he’s _special_ and _good_ and _kind_ in Keith’s eyes.

And Keith doesn’t lie. He knows Keith wouldn’t say it if he didn’t believe it fully.

Quietly, Keith says, “Shiro. Don’t hold yourself back just because you think you’re no good.”

Shiro lifts his head, staring at Keith in undisguised shock as the words settle. He wants to protest, wants to pull it back, wants to twist the words around back at Keith. But the words still him completely, anchored only by the intensity of Keith’s expression and the unrelenting grip of his hand.

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro says in a low whisper, unable to say anything else.

Keith stares at him, deep and intense and unrelenting. Shiro meets his eyes, holds that gaze, and lets himself really feel it. He watches Keith swallow, looking at their hands, then up at the sky, as if summoning strength. When Keith leans down towards him, Shiro feels his heart leap.

But Keith just presses a kiss to his forehead, slow and lingering. Shiro closes his eyes, something wrenched loose from his throat— a soft sound, full of longing, easing out of him in a sigh. He lets himself feel that, too.

It’s too much. Too intense. He feels everything too strongly, rippling through his body— his love for Keith, ever present and ever buoying him. That longing, an old familiar feeling. The pain of thinking, _Too late._ How deeply, how cosmically, he wants Keith.

Keith draws away with one last squeeze of his hand and says, “You deserve happiness, Shiro.”

“How did this turn into a pep talk.” Shiro tries to tease, his voice sounding wobbly when he looks up at Keith. “I was supposed to be giving you advice.”

Keith lifts his free hand, cupping Shiro’s cheek. He fans his thumb over his cheekbone, his expression gentling.

“So give me advice,” Keith says in a low murmur. And how easy it’d be to just kiss him like this.

Instead, Shiro closes his eyes and leans into the hand. “I don’t really know if my advice is any good.”

Keith pinches his cheek and it makes Shiro bark a surprised laugh, jerking away from the touch. Keith laughs, following him, his hand settling at Shiro’s jaw again and holding there.

“Right,” Shiro says. “No self-deprecating. Got it.”

“About time you got it,” Keith says with a soft chuckle. He strokes his thumb across Shiro’s cheek bone. “So?”

“So, advice,” Shiro says, his heart sunk so low in his chest. “I mean… It’s you. You could just go for it.”

“Is that what you’d do?”

No. Reality has proven succinctly that it’s the opposite of what Shiro would do. He opens his eyes to find Keith studying him.

He smiles, shivering beneath Keith’s touch. “Whether he likes you back… There’s only one way to know for sure, right?”

“I guess that’s true,” Keith says after a long moment, his fingertips touching the line of Shiro’s jaw. His expression softens and he lets out a sigh, his hand dropping away. “Thanks, Shiro. I think I have a clearer picture now.”

“You do?”

It’s a rhetorical question, though. Keith heaves himself off the railing once more, hands on his hips and sighing. “Where’d the wolf go?”

Shiro watches Keith search for the wolf in the crowd, spotting him not too far away— chasing the green fireflies. Keith gives a whistle and the wolf perks up, trotting back over towards them.

It seems their visit to the lava pits is over. But Shiro still feels uncertain, watching Keith’s back, the night breeze ruffling his hair, the dual moons of Anterrilyn rising above the tree lines.

Shiro keeps revolving the same thought— _Keith likes someone back home._

But the more he thinks it, the less sense it makes. He can’t pretend to know every moment of Keith’s day, especially on Earth when he was swamped with work. But he knows Keith, and he knows that Keith doesn’t rush into things. He can’t recall him having ever mentioned a guy he likes, can’t recall ever seeing him flirt with someone, talk with someone, spend time with someone enough for him to be worrying about the line between friendship or romance.

He scrolls through and quickly discards the Paladins— it isn’t Hunk or Lance. He knows that much. It isn’t anyone they work with.

He watches Keith kneel down, burying his face in the wolf’s mane and holding tight, his shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. He clings to the wolf tight, the tension easing from his frame the longer he stays like that.

No, the truth is, when Keith isn’t with the Paladins, he’s with _Shiro._ They spent nearly every weekend together building LP. He’s seen Keith write letters to the Paladins and his mom, no one else.

Shiro frowns, watching Keith as the thought comes to Shiro— a quiet, slow unfurling: _If Keith is going to like anyone, it’s going to be me._

He half-expects the thought to startle him. He waits for the reasons why he’s wrong, why he can dismiss it. But they don’t come.

He stands there, leaning against the railing, letting the thought simmer in his chest. The more he thinks it, the more sense it makes.

If Keith is going to like anyone, it’s going to be Shiro.

How could it be anyone else?

He feels a shiver ripple through him, his breath stilling in his lungs. He watches Keith straighten, one hand curled in the wolf’s mane. He turns back towards Shiro, his smile gentler now as he returns to him.

His hand reaches out and Shiro’s there to take it, tangling their fingers together. It’s not strictly necessary to transport via the wolf, but it’s not even the first time today they’ve held hands like this. Not even the first time in a varga.

The question is there on the tip of Shiro’s tongue: _Keith, do you like me?_

“Are you okay?” Keith asks.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s hand and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, Keith.”

Keith’s smile turns a little sad. “Sorry if I weirded you out.”

“You didn’t,” Shiro says and Keith squeezes his hand this time.

They stand there like that, once again just looking at one another. There are so many words Shiro doesn’t say, competing to be spoken. His mind is heavy with the thought, again and again: if anybody, if anybody—

“You could never weird me out,” Shiro says. “No matter what, Keith… we’re friends, okay?”

“Ha,” Keith breathes, looking down. He smiles a moment later, there and gone again. “Yeah, Shiro. I know.”

There’s something soft in Keith’s voice, far away and unsure.

Shiro takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it back out again. “And Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“… If you’re not sure about the line between friendship and romantic. Um. With the person you like,” Shiro says, voice quiet, hand trembling in Keith’s grip. “It can be both. You know that, right?”

Keith frowns and looks up at Shiro. He’s quiet, holding still. Then, in a jerky dip of his chin, he nods. Shiro nods back and tugs on their hands, pulling Keith closer.

Keith’s hand tightens around the wolf’s mane, ready to transport back to their room. He stares at Shiro, blinking, his frown deepening into a thoughtful pull.

“You know you’ve had a firefly in your hair the whole night, right?” Keith asks.

Shiro blinks, hand lifting to touch. He watches the green firefly float away, flickering on and off into the night. It makes him laugh.

“You did, too,” he says to explain the laughter.

Keith’s mouth tugs into a smile and, together, they let the wolf dart between the space in realities, pulling them away from the lava pits.

And Shiro lets himself hope.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :D

“You’ve been quiet,” Keith says mid-morning.

Shiro hums, although the sound is drowned out by the roar of LP’s engine rumbling to life as Keith undocks from the hangar in Anterrilyn’s customs port. Keith starts their ascent to the upper atmosphere. It’s a smooth ride, because it’s Keith, and Shiro breathes out when the sky around them bleeds dark, each star blooming on the cosmic horizon.

“Are you alright?” Keith asks, not pressing, but with a note of concern lacing his voice.

“Just thinking,” Shiro says. Truthfully, he hasn’t stopped thinking since last night at the lava pits. It’s been a quiet morning, the two of them packing their things and returning to LP without incident.

Keith shifts, waiting a beat, like he wants to ask or like he expects Shiro to share those thoughts. Shiro isn’t sure what to offer him, though. It feels like so much has changed in just one day.

His silence stretches too long. He sees Keith’s shoulders hitch, just slightly, towards his ears. Keith maneuvers LP through the Anterrilyn system towards its stable wormhole. It won’t take them back to the Sol system, but it’ll put them closer.

Their journey’s coming to an end— their checklist met. They’ve been gone for over a phoeb at this point and Shiro knows that they’ve already milked whatever goodwill the Garrison will afford them. They won’t be able to stay out here much longer.

Shiro’s sure Keith would keep going with him. He could suggest a random planet, a random direction, a random desire, and Keith would take him there. He’d do the same on Earth, too. Maybe before Shiro’s inevitable court martial, Keith can take him to the Grand Canyon.

Shiro wishes they had more time.

“I’ll miss this,” Shiro says.

Keith grips the controls. “This doesn’t have to be the last time, Shiro.” He turns to look at him, eyes gentle. Shiro thinks of their conversation last night and it puts that expression in a new context. “You’re not done with the stars until you say you are, remember?”

“Right,” Shiro says and smiles. “I remember.”

Since the thought occurred to Shiro the night before, he can’t stop thinking about it: _What if Keith likes me?_ Now that he lets himself look, now that he lets himself hope, it feels possible. The way Keith smiles at him, the way he always looks to Shiro. The softness of his eyes, the sweetness of his words.

Shiro could be brave. He could say something. He could ask.

He _wants_ to ask. It sits heavy in his chest, shimmering and waiting to explore. It feels impossible that he could hold this inside himself. It’s been so long, so impossibly long since he first housed these feelings— he’s grown used to the fact that he’d hold them forever unexpressed. And now?

Now.

“We’re coming up on a space mall in a few vargas,” Keith says as he pulls up a starmap, updating their coordinates. “Do you think we’re good on food?”

“I can check,” Shiro says, standing from the copilot’s chair. He hesitates, then places his hand on Keith’s shoulder, squeezing once. “Be right back.”

“Sure,” Keith says, attention on the star map as he plots their course. He turns his head, pressing a few of the buttons and switches near Shiro’s vacated chair, stabilizing their fuel expenditure.

Shiro moves towards the door to head down into their living quarters, but stops when Keith bursts out in a wondering laugh.

“Oh—”

“What?” Shiro asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I just—” Keith swivels in his chair to grin at Shiro. “I never noticed before, but— the compass.”

“What about it?” Shiro turns around fully, heading back towards his seat, terrified that the compass has broken somehow or come unstuck from the mounting tape. Keith laughs again as Shiro approaches. Shiro frowns at the compass, its needle steady as it always is when they’re in space without any magnetic field to respond to.

Keith shakes his head. “I thought it didn’t move while we were out here, but it does.”

Shiro frowns at the needle, unmoving on its point. He gives Keith a perplexed look.

Keith grins up at him, eyes bright. “It’s following you. I guess because of the electromagnetic field in your arm.”

“My—” Shiro turns to look at the compass again and the needle. The needle that’s pointing directly towards Shiro, now that he looks. He’s looked at the compass every day on their trip, whenever he’s sitting in the copilot’s chair, and the needle’s never moved.

Shiro takes a giant side-step towards Keith. The needle swivels, following him.

“Oh,” Shiro says. Keith starts laughing again. “I—” He remembers the night Keith gave him the compass, how the needle wobbled into place, pointing past Keith’s shoulder. Or maybe it was warped by Shiro’s own shoulder. He laughs. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that.”

Keith shakes his head, grinning. “The right direction is back towards you, I guess.”

“Good thing we have more advanced technology for navigating than this,” Shiro agrees, chuckling. He taps his finger gently against the compass face, unsurprised when the needle doesn’t so much as jiggle, latched onto the powerful pull of Shiro’s shoulder port.

“I wonder if it’ll do that planetside, too,” Keith says.

Shiro thinks of that night again, out in the sandy desert, the quiet night with just the two of them. Lying side by side with Keith in the sand and looking at the stars. In all of Shiro’s fondest memories, Keith is always there beside him.

“It does,” Shiro says. “I think. I remember watching the needle move the night you gave it to me. I thought it was pointing at you.”

“But maybe it was pointing at you instead?” Keith asks, laughing.

“Yeah.”

Keith shrugs. “We’ll have to test it once we’re back home.”

“Guess so,” Shiro says, and must fail to keep the glumness from his voice.

Keith reaches out, touching Shiro’s hand, his fingers curling gently to hold him, tugging. “Hey…” Keith says and waits for Shiro to look at him, his expression sympathetic. “It’s going to be okay, Shiro. No matter what happens and no matter what we decide.”

“Oh,” Shiro says and cringes. “Am I that obvious?”

“Very,” Keith says. He tugs on Shiro’s hand again until he sits back down in the copilot’s chair, the two of them facing one another, Shiro’s hand tucked comfortably in Keith’s sure hold. “You’ve been really quiet. I can tell you’re worried. I can hear you thinking from here.”

Shiro huffs a breath. Keith doesn’t even know the half of it.

“Whatever happens,” Keith says, “it’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

Warmth floods through Shiro’s chest, his heart twisting. He smiles at Keith and squeezes his hand. “I know, Keith. You always do. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Keith’s smile tilts up at one corner, lopsided and boyish. “Get into less trouble, probably.”

“Marginally less, maybe,” Shiro agrees and laughs when Keith kicks Shiro’s shin with his bare foot.

They fall into silence then, what’s left quiet and unexpressed hovering between them. Shiro thinks of all the things he could say, everything he wants to say. He looks down at their hands, held gently between them. He imagines pulling once and tugging Keith into his lap. For the first time, the fantasy feels possible— like Keith would let it happen, too.

“I should check our food supplies,” Shiro says but doesn’t move.

“We’re probably fine,” Keith says. “I grabbed some of the shelf-stable stuff from Anterrilyn.” He tilts his head. “But if we stopped at the space mall, we could get fresh stuff.” He laughs. “I could see if they have flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“So I can get you peonies,” Keith says and grins.

Shiro laughs, the sound punching out of him. His stomach squirms and he squeezes Keith’s hand. “Maybe I’ll buy you flowers instead.”

“Flowers make me sneeze.”

“Then a bag of flour,” Shiro says and then snorts a laugh when Keith groans over the pun.

“That’s a better gift for Hunk,” Keith says. “And none of them need more gifts. They’re going to hate how many souvenirs we’ve bought them.”

“Lava lamps for everyone,” Shiro says agreeably.

He looks down at their hands again, unmoving. He takes a breath, shifting, and tangles his fingers with Keith’s. He hears Keith take a deep breath.

He looks up at Keith, his heart pounding when he asks, “If I bought you flowers… would you accept them?”

“What kind of question is that?” Keith mumbles, blushing. After a pause, he nods. “Yeah, Shiro. I would.”

Shiro sits with that for a moment, letting the words wash over him. Keith looks at him, holding his breath, but as the moment passes without words, he watches Keith’s eyes slide away. His free hand fiddles with a piece of his hair, fallen from the messy bun he’s wearing it in again today, his thumb ghosting across his scar.

Shiro licks his lips. “Peonies?”

“Any,” Keith says, shrugging. “I don’t really care about flowers.” He hums. “Pidge has given me flowers.”

“What?” Shiro asks, his brow furrowing.

“Ones her mom grew,” Keith says. “From her garden. They made me sneeze for days… I don’t know what kind they were. So if you give me flowers, make sure it’s not those kind.”

Shiro’s brow doesn’t unwrinkle. He doesn’t know how to just say it: Not like that. _I don’t mean it like that, as a friend, I mean it as—_

“Something else you’re allergic to?” Shiro asks, smiling.

Keith groans, tilting his head back. His hair spills back, curling along the nape of his neck. The delicate curve of Keith’s throat is distracting. “Don’t remind me,” Keith says. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat regular cilantro after this without getting sympathy hives.”

Shiro laughs. “Tough break, bud.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. He turns his head, flipping on the autopilot before standing. He squeezes Shiro’s hand and tugs him up. “Come on. Let’s go check on our supplies.”

They head downstairs, toeing around a slumbering wolf to check their supplies. Food is pretty stable for the amount of days they have left before reaching Earth again, but their supply of hand soap is running low. Keith pulls up their PADD to make a short list of supplies.

Shiro uses his foot to shove their dirty laundry into a pile as Keith digs through the drawers, making note of their cleaning supply levels. “Maybe stop by the laundromat,” Keith says. “I’m running low on socks.”

“Sure,” Shiro says, adding a note to their list. _Go to laundromat._

“I guess if I run out of sweaters, I can wear this,” Keith says, yanking out Shiro’s stained admiral jacket. It’s almost startling to see it after so long shoved into the drawer. Keith whips it through the air a couple times to shake it out.

“Oh,” Shiro says, surprised that it doesn’t feel like a punch in the gut to see the coat again after such a long absence. He looks at it and feels nothing, actually. That realization is more surprising than anything else. Shiro pauses, biting his lip, and then hears himself say, “You could.”

His voice sounds strained, but not for distress or anything unpleasant. He swallows as Keith grins and shrugs out of his hoodie (or, Shiro’s hoodie that Keith stole) and pulls the coat on instead, left arm and then right arm.

Keith bursts out laughing as his right arm finds no sleeve. Of course there’s no sleeve— the coat’s been adapted for Shiro’s arm, unlike many of the clothes Keith’s been nabbing this entire trip.

“This is definitely a look,” Keith says, spinning so that the coat flutters around him, too loose in the shoulders, the sleeve of the left arm long enough to nearly cover Keith’s hand completely. “I feel like a pirate or something.”

The sad truth is that even with the goofy missing-sleeve, Keith looks beautiful. Shiro’s long since accepted on this trip that he likes seeing Keith in his clothes. It seems the admiral jacket is no exception, Keith bedazzled in the medals and insignia, the black color scheme dusting over his shoulders and accenting the dark drape of his hair in the bun.

Keith strikes a pose and flexes his right arm, patting the bicep. “Let’s you get a look at these guns, huh?”

Shiro snorts and then giggles. It’s a stupid sound but he can’t hold it in, and it’s clear that Keith’s encouraged by the response, grinning as Shiro ducks his head and laughs.

“You look good, Keith,” Shiro says.

“Maybe it’s like… samurai or whatever,” Keith says. “You know, how they’d tie back their sleeve or wear their clothes half-off so they could swing their arm?”

Shiro tilts his head and Keith grunts. He goes for the buttons, doing up the coat. And then, because clearly Keith is on a mission to torture Shiro, he slips the shoulder off his right arm, letting the coat anchor itself on Keith’s left shoulder, folding down and leaving his right arm, shoulder, and half his chest exposed. It’s a small mercy he still has his shirt on beneath.

“See?” Keith says, pretending to swing an invisible katana through the air. “Samurai.”

“You’d fit the look,” Shiro says. “Cool fighter, honorable and wandering.”

“Is that what samurai do?” Keith asks and Shiro shrugs. He’s hardly an expert on things like that, history or otherwise. Keith rolls his eyes at the response, looking fond. He tries to wriggle his hand free of the overly long sleeve and almost manages it, fiddling with the buttons of the coat.

“You look nice,” Shiro says. He bites the inside of his cheek, fighting his smile. “No, I mean it,” he says when Keith looks like he might protest. “Um… Handsome.”

Keith ducks his head, laughing again— softer this time. “I look stupid.”

“Are you saying my admiral’s coat is stupid?” Shiro asks, teasing. He takes a step closer.

“You looked nice in it,” Keith says quietly. He looks up at Shiro as he approaches and punches him lightly in the arm “I look like I’m drowning. When’d you get so big?”

Shiro snorts. “What about you? Mister Gun Show.”

Keith laughs and flexes again, his grin clearly joking and teasing. He makes a soft sound when Shiro curls his fingers around the bicep and gives it a small squeeze, judging the bulk of the muscle. Shiro gives an overly dramatic nod of approval, humming.

Keith blushes, but his smile doesn’t dim. “Maybe I’ll wear it again sometime, then.”

“You’re more than welcome to,” Shiro says. “Not quite sure how much longer I’ll get to wear it once we get home.”

Keith hums. “It’s going to be okay, Shiro.” He unbuttons the coat, slipping out of it. He tosses it to rest on their bed and then picks his discarded hoodie off the top of the dresser. “Besides,” he says, putting it on. “I like this much more.”

“Me too,” Shiro admits.

“But really,” Keith says, insisting, stepping to Shiro again. His hand finds Shiro’s shoulder and rests there. “It’s going to be okay, Shiro. You’ll figure out what you need to do… You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

Shiro feels his smile turn slightly pained. “I haven’t felt very brave lately.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s okay. You don’t always have to be.”

Shiro nods, accepting it. Keith nods, too, and turns to pluck up the datapad. He scrolls through their list with the slightest nod.

“Okay,” Keith says. “Not too much on the list. We should be passing by the space mall soon, so let’s head back up there.”

Shiro follows Keith up.

-

It’s a quick pitstop before they’re on their way again, plotting their course. Keith pulls up the starmap, frowning a bit as he calculates their trajectory, and then inputs it into LP’s controls. The wormhole has put them just a few days out from the Sol system.

“On our way,” Keith says with a barely restrained sigh.

Maybe it’s the inevitability of their road trip ending, but Shiro can’t stop marveling at the sights beyond their viewport. Truthfully, Shiro never wants to get used to it— never wants to take for granted all the amazing things he gets to see, that he’s privileged and lucky enough to see.

He remembers the hopeful boy he once was. He remembers growing up knowing he’d only be able to fly for a short while and then be grounded. He remembers thinking the best he could ever do was get to Pluto’s moon— an accomplishment all its own— and hold onto that memory forever.

He remembers being so certain of when he would die, of being grounded for the rest of his life and then fading away— as unremembered and unremarkable as a meteor burning out in the upper atmosphere.

Now, he’s been to amazing worlds he never knew existed, met different peoples, walked upon inhabited planets and moons and asteroids. He’s seen hiccupping quasars, blaringly bright, massive suns, devastatingly dark black holes, nebulas and comets and high-velocity stars and dark moons and any number of things that were once just theory but are now part of Shiro’s life, his memories, his dream.

Sometimes, Shiro can hardly believe this is the life he gets to live in: sitting in a ship he built by hand with the love of his life, surrounded by his greatest dream. Somehow, despite all the shit Shiro’s gone through, all the pain he’s suffered and made others suffer in turn, he gets to have this.

“You’re quiet again,” Keith murmurs beside him, the words sweet, unwilling to break Shiro fully from the wondering look he casts out at the unfathomable dark of the cosmos.

He’s here. And he’s alive.

“It’s so beautiful,” Shiro says, smiling. “I— it still gets me.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, setting aside the PADD he’s been using to type a letter to Krolia. He looks out the viewport with Shiro. Out of the corner of Shiro’s eye, he sees Keith smile— sweet and sunrise-bright. Keith’s always loved the stars, too, after all. “I never want to get used to it.”

“Me neither,” Shiro says. “I never want to take this— anything. I never want to take any of it for granted.” He laughs. “We’ve seen so much, Keith. Imagine what else we haven’t discovered yet? Imagine what’s out there for us to find, to learn about? Imagine all the ways the universe can help each other.”

“Yeah, Shiro,” Keith says, voice softer now.

Shiro reaches out towards him, unwilling to take his eyes away from the view, but seeking Keith’s hand. They find one another blindly like that, fingers tangling together, palm to palm.

He gets to see these amazing things and he gets to experience the mundane, too— tourist traps on alien planets, space malls with space laundromats, ridiculous soap operas about the Paladins. He gets to experience alien species looking at him and Keith and, somehow, believing them already to be mates.

He gets to have that— ridiculousness, laughter— and the beauty, too. LP’s enroute to pass through a nebula, and that’s _normal._ The nebula swells before them, swirls and blooms of light flaming through the cosmic sky, flooding LP’s cockpit.

He thinks, again, of returning to Earth. Of pulling on his admiral’s coat and issuing order after order from behind a desk, grounded forever because he’s too indispensable. Imagines working himself to the bone for an organization he no longer believes in.

He thinks, of course, of the terror of walking away— the responsibility he holds, the disappointment he’d feel for abandoning things half-finished. Maybe he’s been profoundly selfish, running away with Keith like this.

He drags his thumb gently across Keith’s knuckles, feeling the sure press of Keith’s hand in his, proof that they’re here together— that they’re both alive. That they still have time left, all the time in the world.

“This is where I belong,” Shiro says. He doesn’t even mean to say it out loud, but as soon as he says it, he knows it’s true.

He knows where he belongs. He might not yet know who he is in a peaceful world, but he wants it to be here— among the stars.

“Shiro?” Keith says, voice a soft whisper. The nebula swirls before them, a twist of red and purple light. Shiro can’t take his eyes off it but hears Keith shifting beside him, then the softest gasp. “Shiro—”

Keith stands so quickly Shiro’s nearly terrified he’s hurt. He turns his head, blinking in shock as Keith steps into his space, hovering above him, his hands moving to cup his cheeks. His thumbs swipe and only then does Shiro realize that there are tears in his eyes. He hasn’t started crying, nothing spilling down his cheeks, but he can barely see through the glassiness of his eyes.

“Oh—” he whispers, shocked.

Keith cups his face, ready to catch the tears should they fall. But Shiro wills them back again, blinking a few times in surprise. Shiro can’t remember the last time he cried. It feels too long ago now, something too distant and unseen. He can’t recall the last time he let himself cry, much less a time he would have been unaware of it.

He shakes his head, just barely, blinking through the welling of his eyes, and stares up at Keith. He gives him a shaky smile.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “No— it’s okay.”

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith says, expression stunned but concerned. “I told you. I promise— everything’s going to be okay. I’m not—”

“These aren’t bad tears,” Shiro says gently, interrupting. He cups his hand over Keith’s, keeping it pressed there to his cheek. “Keith— I’m okay. I promise.”

Keith doesn’t look convinced with his brow pinched, his mouth tugged in a frown. He shifts so he’s not hunching over Shiro, swiveling Shiro in his chair to face him as he sits down on the navigation panel, unconcerned about the controls beneath him. His eyes bore into Shiro’s, unwilling to look away.

It’s with a small smile that Shiro thinks that the compass needle will be pointing at Keith, too. True North. Always.

“Geez,” Shiro says, laughing. “I can’t remember the last time I cried.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says. “If you need to.”

Shiro closes his eyes, shaking his head. He leans his face into one of Keith’s hands, feeling the sure press of his palm against his cheek.

“Shiro?”

“I’m _here,_ ” Shiro says, the nebula blooming bright behind Keith, crowning his head with stars. He looks up at Keith, smiling. “I want to be out here forever,” Shiro confesses. “I don’t want to go back to Earth.”

“Shiro—”

“I don’t want to be an Admiral,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to work for the Garrison anymore. I don’t want to be part of any sort of hierarchy or bureaucracy or military. I want to see the universe and I want to help the universe. But on my terms.” He looks up at Keith. “On our terms.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, looking surprised— until his expression smooths out into something surer. The face of a man who’ll fight the universe for Shiro’s sake. Shiro doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Keith’s loyalty, but he has it and Shiro’s not about to snub it. “Shiro,” Keith murmurs. “Wherever you go, you know I’ll be there with you.”

“I know,” Shiro says. “Thank you, Keith.”

Now that he’s said the words aloud, he knows it’s always been true, knows he made this decision ages ago, movements ago. He knew, the moment he set foot on LP, that this would be his choice. He knew, long before he was even offered the admiralty, that this would be the result— that, inevitably, he would leave. That, inevitably, he would find his place in the universe with Keith.

It was, of course, always going to be Keith.

He waits for the swell of anxiety in his gut, all the reasons why he needs to stay with the Garrison— the guilt, the responsibility, the resources, the good will, the momentum of his place, all the history, all the loyalty.

Nothing comes. It feels just like seeing the coat again: an absence, the spot where Shiro should care but has already moved on.

Keith’s thumb swipes so gently across Shiro’s cheek. There aren’t any tears to wipe away, but it’s a tender gesture all the same.

Shiro feels lighter somehow, finally putting it to voice.

He looks up at Keith, laughing. “Fuck. It feels good to say that.”

“Good,” Keith whispers, his smile almost wicked if not for the concern still shining in his eyes. “So… where are we going instead?”

Shiro barks a laugh, unrestrained, feeling _light._ “No… We _do_ have to go back to Earth. I need to officially resign. I need to face whatever consequences they throw at me. And then—”

“Then we can buy ourselves a fleet,” Keith says. “Bring the others with us. We can do good in the universe, like you said. On our terms.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, hand lifting to cup Keith’s cheek in turn. His thumb drags down the long line of Keith’s scar and feels Keith shiver, his eyes closing. His eyelashes are so pretty up close, sooty and spread across his blushing cheeks.

“You’re here with me,” Keith says, and it feels so much like that time— movements and movements ago, in this little cockpit with Keith.

Shiro laughs as Keith tips forward, their foreheads pressing together. “Yeah. I’m here with you.”

They stay like that, breathing in one another’s space. With his eyes closed, Shiro lets himself feel Keith’s presence. The sureness of his hands on his face, the press of their foreheads together. He thinks, again, of how easy it would be to tip forward and just kiss Keith like this. That, miraculously, Keith would kiss him back.

He swipes his thumb across Keith’s cheek in turn, following the line of his scar. He feels Keith take a slow breath.

Shiro takes a breath, too. But before he can say anything or do anything, LP lets out a loud warning groan, the ship decelerating so rapidly that they actually lurch forward as the ship grinds to an automated halt.

“Wh—” Keith says, jerking away from Shiro’s face quick enough that they don’t actually headbutt each other from the sudden shift. He twists around on the controls, staring out the viewport. “Did we hit—”

He stops abruptly, startled. Shiro looks over Keith’s shoulder and sees the source of the automated shutdown from LP’s autopilot: a massive swarm of some sort of creature galloping through the vacuum of space in a long, steady swell.

It fills their entire field of vision, stretching as far as Shiro can see, up, down, and all around them.

“What the fu—” Keith starts.

“Kinda like cows blocking train tracks,” Shiro says and then laughs at the mental image of it.

The creatures blocking their path look nothing like cows, though, more resembling huge eight-limbed bears with fuzzy muzzles and long antennae. Not cows, but they certainly move like them: slow, unhurried, and massive. Each one is bigger than at least three of their ships stacked on top of each other. And there are hundreds of them, maybe thousands, migrating in a massive cloud.

Shiro laughs. This isn’t quite what he meant when he thought about seeing all the undiscovered things in the universe— but it’s a start.

“Ever seen these before with the Blades?” Shiro asks but Keith shakes his head.

“Never.”

Keith fishes out the PADD and snaps a picture of them to send off to Coran for explanation. He taps away, his brow pinched as he stands up from their controls. Shiro reaches out, righting their navigation and engine gauge, double-checking the sudden stop hasn’t damaged anything in the core.

Everything looks in order, just the equivalent of an emergency break getting thrown. Shiro breathes out a sigh just as Keith’s PADD chirps with the outgoing message. While they wait— either for identification or for the creatures to finally stop blocking their trajectory, Keith sits back down.

This time, though, he sits on the copilot seat’s armrest, dangerously close to Shiro’s lap. Keith brushes his fingers through Shiro’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He studies Shiro’s face, as if looking for more evidence of crying.

Shiro, feeling indulgent, leans into Keith’s touch when he cups his cheek. It’s a simple touch, but grounding now that he lets himself feel it, now that he gives himself permission to enjoy it. He wants to sink his fingers into Keith’s hair and retie his bun for him.

“I mean it,” Keith says.

“Mm?”

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” Keith says, voice soft with the vow. “And if the Garrison tries to stop you from quitting, I’ll fight every single one of them.”

Shiro laughs, his throat feeling tight. “I have no doubt of that, Keith.”

-

It takes about a varga for Coran to get back to them, and in that time Shiro’s lost count of how many of the creatures have passed by. Not a lot, really, and their viewport is still full of them. When Keith lets LP’s sensors pulse out, it’s clear they’ve managed to fly right into a swarm of them— the creatures not just blocking their path forward but their path above, below, and behind.

“I could probably navigate around them,” Keith says thoughtfully. “But I’d hate to accidentally hit one.”

“You, hit one?” Shiro shakes his head. “Who can outfly you?”

Keith preens at the praise, but the creatures are moving so closely together that Shiro doesn’t blame Keith for not wanting to risk it. They scroll through Coran’s (long-winded) message once it arrives. Coran gives them the name— flimulp— and that the best way to get around them is to redirect their path.

“We have some flares,” Keith says as he reads through Coran’s instructions on redirection and path-clearing. “If we get them to change course, we should be able to get through.” He looks up at Shiro, eyebrows raised. “Or we can wait, if you want. Coran says the migration can take quintants.”

Shiro laughs. “Normally, I’d say let’s go for it— I’m not eager to get back to Earth, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Now that I’ve made a decision, I want to act on it before I manage to convince myself otherwise.”

“We better get out there, then,” Keith says. “Come on, we have suits lying around here somewhere.”

It takes some digging to locate the emergency flares and spacesuits. “I remember when Voltron armor was so much faster,” Shiro mumbles as he wriggles to scoot the hip-hugging fabric up over him. “Definitely more convenient.”

Keith snorts. “One of the perks of the job, I guess.”

It does feel nostalgic to leave LP— not for LP herself but for the Lions she’s named for. Shiro remembers any number of times hovering outside the Lions with the others, using their jetpacks to stay in formation, whether it be for fighting or for observation, for kicking around or for necessity.

It’s nostalgic, but different now. Keith grabs his hand as they use their jetpacks to get up on top of LP. Shiro laughs to himself as they float above the viewport, looking down and seeing the fishbowl of their cockpit, the seats they’ve sat in for over a month. Their ship. The one they built together and traveled in together.

They watch the flimulp gallop through the vacuum of space, moving without a care, as slow and gentle as whales through water.

Keith lets go of his hand only to fish out the flares, offering one to Shiro. “Okay,” he says, voice crackling to life through their communication system. “Coran says that we’re corralling them. I’ll throw that direction,” he says, gesturing. “You throw that way.”

“Are we talking fourteen degrees or eighteen degrees?” Shiro asks, watching the sweep of Keith’s hand. He laughs when Keith gives him a look. “Got it. Eyeball it.”

Shiro twists the flare and it bursts to life, sparking with the bright burn of an Altean crystal to keep it alight even in the vacuum of space. He takes a breath and lobs it in the direction Keith indicated, watching it slowly float away from him, arching and bright as a sunburst.

The flimulp respond to the sudden bright spot, especially when Keith throws his own. They shift, tentatively at first but then with purpose. They’re slow as they gallop, but they are undoubtedly following the flare. With the group distracted and severed, it’ll still take time for the path to clear, but it’ll be faster than waiting days for the herd to move on.

“Can you believe this is our life?” Shiro asks, voice tinny through the communicator. He laughs when Keith turns his head to smile at him, bright even through the light-reflecting visors.

“I never thought I’d have any sort of life,” Keith says in a quiet confession. “I have you to thank for that.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, the laugh lodging in his throat, half-strangled. “Oh, Keith—”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s the truth.”

He says it so simply. Shiro knows that Keith believes it, will always believe it. Shiro would never be so cruel as to dismiss Keith’s feelings, to tell him he’s wrong, not when he can hear the conviction in his voice. But, as always, Shiro can’t help but wonder what he could have possibly done to earn this level of loyalty and devotion.

“You, too,” Shiro says. “I— ha. I literally owe my life to you so many times over.” He chuckles even though he knows it isn’t funny, especially not to Keith. “I’d have no life without you, Keith.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, voice cracking through the communicator.

Shiro smiles at him, then reaches out to squeeze his hand. “I’m glad this is the life we get to have. I’m glad this is the life we gave each other.”

Keith’s smile is wobbly, but he nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, voice cracking again. “Yeah, Shiro.”

The flimulp gallop around them, clearing their view. Shiro can see the nebula again, all its swirl of color and light. Shiro sighs when he sees it, buoyed yet again by the expansive love of the universe.

“It’s pretty,” he says when Keith gives a thoughtful hum in response.

Keith laughs as he looks at the nebula. His voice is quiet when he says, “They’re our colors.” He shrugs. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, watching that swirl of red and purple, the darker shades almost black in the misty cloud of the star’s nursery. He and Keith are still holding hands, looking at the nebula. They watch the nebula through the flimulp herd, silent, merely observing it.

He feels Keith squeeze his hand and then, quietly, Keith murmurs, “We look good together.”

Shiro sucks in a breath. The words are almost unthinking, sighed out as they stare at the swirls of reds and purples in that nebula, the twinkling of birthing stars.

Shiro turns his head and watches Keith blush behind his helmet’s visor, adding with a quiet laugh, “The colors, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, squeezing his hand back, his heart kicking up in his chest. He swallows. “We look good together.”

It makes Keith laugh, his smile hopeful when he looks at Shiro. And Shiro can only smile back, feeling helpless and unreal. He takes another breath and tugs on Keith’s hand. They float, unmoored, and Keith’s helmet clunks against Shiro. It makes them laugh as they adjust, until Shiro reaches out to steady Keith.

It’s gentler the second time, the thunk of Keith’s helmet against Shiro’s— a mirror to their forehead touch earlier if not for the metal separating them. Keith hooks his hands around the back of Shiro’s neck, anchoring them together.

Shiro breathes in and back out again. He can hear Keith breathing through their communicator.

The universe feels suspended in that moment. Maybe it’s the quiet of space, how Shiro can only hear his own breathing, the beat of his heart. He can hear Keith breathing in his ear from the communicator, see the slight blush to his face.

 _Inevitable._ Shiro always used to hate that word.

Looking at Keith now, Shiro thinks this might be what inevitability feels like. He looks at Keith and it doesn’t feel like an ending. Keith was always the one to make him feel endless.

“I could stay like this forever,” Keith says, the soft confession sounding like a prayer, like the best sort of promise.

“Me too,” Shiro whispers.

“Forever.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says.

 _We look good together,_ Keith’s words whisper in the back of his mind.

It feels like another moment. Another moment when Shiro could just say it. He smiles down at Keith, though, the words there in his heart but left unexpressed. Keith, at least, doesn’t look disappointed in him— and how could he when he doesn’t even know what it is that Shiro’s thinking, really.

They stay like that, suspended above LP. Shiro can’t find the words.

He thinks that, maybe, Keith looks disappointed after all. He blinks and his expression clears. And then he sighs, turning. “I think the flimulp are ready for the third flare.”

Shiro watches Keith turn, watches him burst the flare to life, watches him throw it out into the void. There’s nothing romantic about the gesture, about being surrounded by alien bear-cows. But Keith is, of course, beautiful and ethereal in all things, especially with the backdrop of the red-purple nebula all around him.

He could, Shiro thinks. He could be like this forever. An endless journey through space at Keith’s side. Visiting new places, helping people when he can. Exploring, charting, learning new things.

Just Shiro, Keith, and the universe.

As the thought occurs to him, he flashes back to that night in the water— trembling all over with adrenaline, with the reality that he could say it. There are a million reasons why he shouldn’t say anything. But there are just as many for why he should, too.

 _Be brave,_ he thinks.

Shiro has faced down far too many enemies, has been made to fight, has felt like a weapon in his worst moments, has literally fought against the people he loves. Even before Voltron and everything that followed, he’s had to fight against people holding him back, had to chase his dreams with the abandon of a man dying, of a man who has no choice.

Telling his best friend that he loves him is somehow the most terrifying moment of them all. Shiro’s trembling just thinking about it and feels like a coward for it.

But then, he thinks, the thought blooming in his mind like a drop of water builds ripples: who in the universe deserves to know he’s loved more than Keith?

Keith’s twisting open the fourth and final flare, tossing it to make the proper path for the flimulp, his back to Shiro. Shiro studies him then, the surety of his stance, the hard-won confidence rolling off him in waves even for something as mundane as flimulp herding.

The most beautiful, strong, courageous man that Shiro’s ever known.

“Keith,” he says, and there must be something in his tone, must be something that Keith can sense. Shiro watches Keith’s shoulders tighten. Shiro pauses. “On— On Anterrilyn.”

The words are gone from him now. He can’t take them back. He swallows, staring at Keith’s back.

Keith’s staring up at the nebula now, his face turned away. He nods, though, when Shiro doesn’t continue.

“You asked me…” Shiro pauses. “Can I ask you something, too?”

Keith is quiet for a beat too long. Then, softly he says, “Go ahead, Shiro.”

Shiro waits, hesitating, unsure if he’s going to take this step— and knows, of course, that he is. Be brave. _Be brave._

Shiro moves forward, just enough, just waiting for Keith to turn his head, so he can see his face. Keith tilts his head a little as Shiro approaches, just enough for him to glance away from the nebula and towards him, just the glimmer of his eye reflecting the starborn light.

Shiro doesn’t know how to read his expression— doesn’t know if it’s terror or hope that he sees there. If Keith can guess what Shiro’s going to say and doesn’t want to hear it. Or desperately wants to hear it.

“… What do you do if there’s…” Shiro hesitates. Keith doesn’t move, holding himself perfectly still. “If there’s someone you like. And you know they care about you back, but… you’re not sure how.”

Shiro holds his breath, waiting for the moment when understanding flickers in Keith’s eyes, when he knows exactly what Shiro is saying. When he has to reject Shiro or—

Or.

Keith holds himself perfectly still, waiting. He says nothing. Shiro goes still, too, and knows he’s no longer breathing. His heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline slamming through him. He feels too tangled up.

“Sounds like my question,” Keith says finally and laughs. It sounds too small, too hitching.

“I guess so,” Shiro agrees.

Slowly, then, Keith turns to look at him. His smile is wide and helpless, and his eyes are bright. Hope, Shiro thinks. Keith’s expression is hopeful.

And it’s with a startling thought that Shiro knows it’s not the first time Keith’s looked at him like this. He’s seen it so many times before, not just on this trip. He remembers waking up in his new body to Keith smiling down at him, expression too soft and tender. He remembers waking up for the second time in that new body, Keith still looking at him like Shiro was the world itself, the entire universe.

He thinks of any number of moments— lying out in the desert with Keith, the needle of the compass pointing towards him. The two of them jumping off the edge and into quintessence-bright water. Waking up each morning to Keith’s smiling face. Dipping Keith in a hall full of dancers and only seeing Keith. Keith, glow-soft from the light of green lava, fireflies in his hair.

Keith.

“I—” Shiro hiccups. “There’s—” He stops. He breathes. He says, “I have something I need to tell you, Keith.”

Keith takes a breath. Then, quietly, he says, “You can tell me anything, Shiro.”

And, somehow, Shiro’s always known that’s true. He never had any reason to be afraid. It’s inevitable.

It’s Keith.

“I— I could be here forever. I want to be here forever. I want—” Shiro swallows. “I want to be here with you, Keith. Forever.”

Keith nods, blinking up at Shiro. “Yeah, Shiro. Me too.” He smiles. “We keep telling each other that, you know.”

 _Be brave,_ Shiro reminds himself.

And so he is: “I love you, Keith.”

He says the words and they’re gone from him. He can’t pull them back again. He doesn’t want to.

He watches Keith take a breath, his eyes widening as the words settle.

“I love you,” Shiro says and it’s a wonder to him that he’s never said it before— not when he returned to Earth again, not when he thought he was dying from a wound in his side. Not even when he returned from death the first time. Or the second time. Or the time Keith swept in and felled Sendak for him. So many chances when he could have said it, and never did.

A wonder, truly, to watch Keith fall from the sky, nearly ripped from him, and not say it then. All this time, afraid of what it would mean. All this time, refusing to consider what he’d gain in saying it.

All this time, telling himself that he doesn’t deserve it— that he is used to longing, to never getting what he truly wants.

Somehow, it’s the easiest thing in the world to say, now that he’s said it. Shiro should have guessed— should have guessed what the words would feel like to finally, finally say out loud.

“I’m—” He feels so calm, something serene building in his chest. He laughs. “Yeah. That.”

Keith’s gone totally still, his eyes wide. He doesn’t look horrified though, not uncomfortable or like he’s about to reject the words. And, again, Shiro lets himself hope. He watches Keith stare at him, his eyes wide, his lips parted, and he _hopes._

If he was happy before, it’s nothing compared to now. No matter what Keith says— he knows Keith. They’ll be friends, no matter what. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Keith knows.

He feels the tears swelling at the backs of his eyes, overwhelmed. He feels weightless and not just because he’s out in space, away from LP’s artificial gravity.

_You make me feel like light._

“Keith?” Shiro asks when Keith still hasn’t said anything.

And Keith makes a soft sound then, something like a trill, but stifled, like he’s barely holding back a sob. He reaches for Shiro then, hooking his hands around the back of Shiro’s neck and yanking him down. Their helmets knock hard together, but it feels affectionate.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, voice wobbly, so raspy even through the communicator. Up close, Shiro can see the way Keith fights around his smile, overwhelmed and unrestrained. “ _Shiro._ ”

“Yeah,” Shiro says back, voice barely a whisper. When Keith says nothing more, Shiro adds, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. That doesn’t change anything. I’m, um, I just— you deserved to know. And I—”

And then Keith laughs— something hitching and hiccupping and broken. “ _Shiro._ Please.”

He whaps his helmet hard against Shiro’s, a pointed gesture. He clings to Shiro then, holding him tight. The world is bright around them, the nebula swirling, but it’s only Keith now— Keith, coming closer to him, holding him tight, never letting him go.

Shiro curls his arms around Keith, hugging him. They float like that, outside LP, just holding each other.

“I— what the hell, Shiro,” Keith says, clinging to Shiro to keep him from flinching at the words. “Why are you telling me out here where I can’t— when I can’t even touch you?”

He hits his helmet against Shiro’s again to emphasize the point. Shiro gasps as the words settle.

“Keith,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, sniffling. He pulls back, grabbing Shiro’s hand and yanking. “Come on— I’m not having this conversation out here.”

Shiro’s too speechless to say anything in response. Keith takes charge then, grabbing Shiro’s hands and guiding him back towards the airlock, all nervous energy and agitation as he punches in the code.

Shiro feels like his brain’s been fuzzed out. The words have left him, and he feels freer than he has in years. Hope bubbles inside him, staring at the back of Keith’s head as he waits for the airlock to open.

As soon as it does, he tugs Shiro inside. He grumbles as the door takes its time shutting and the chamber fills with oxygen again.

He looks up at Shiro then and then his expression wobbles. Shiro sees it again— the telltale signs of tears, his eyes misty and welling up. If not for Keith’s smile, Shiro would be terrified to see it, terrified that he’s pushed too far, that he’s severely misinterpreted.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes, ducking his head. He hasn’t removed his helmet yet, but he covers his face.

“Don’t cry,” Shiro says. “If you do, then I’m going to, too.”

He can already feel it stinging the back of his eyes. He also knows that Keith knows he doesn’t mean it— that Keith can cry if he has to.

He touches Keith’s shoulder and feels Keith lean into that touch. “I meant it,” Shiro says. “All of it. I— you’re important to me, Keith. And it’s okay if that’s the way you feel, too. I’m— we’ll always be friends.”

Instead of crying, Keith just laughs, shaking his head and dropping his hands. His eyes are indeed shiny when he looks up at Shiro again, torn between fond and exhausted. “Shiro.”

“Yes, Keith?”

“Do you— do you have any idea how long I’ve—” He hiccups then, shaking his head. “Do you have _any_ idea?”

“Keith—”

The ship’s not even halfway through its first decontamination scan, but Keith doesn’t seem to care. He yanks off his helmet and throws it aside. Then he reaches for Shiro’s, tugging it off. His movements are sure, determined.

And then he doesn’t even give Shiro the chance to answer. He cups Shiro’s cheeks and drags him down, kissing him.

Shiro gasps. It punches out of him. Somehow, in all this, it hadn’t occurred to him that this is what Keith meant by touching him. Keith is a fire, as he is in all things, burning bright and passionate, his lips off-center and his grip tight against Shiro’s jaw.

And all Shiro can do is melt against him. He curls his arms around Keith to tug him in close and kisses him back. It’s easy. It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

One moment, he’s breathing. The next, he can’t. There’s only Keith.

Shiro sighs against Keith’s lips, laying worship to his mouth, unable to do anything else but this. He kisses him and it feels like infinity stretched out. Inevitability. He feels cosmic, like he’s about to burst to life like a supernova. Keith is sure and strong in his arms, his hands trembling against his cheeks.

What Keith lacks in finesse he makes up for in passion, kissing Shiro breathless. Keith doesn’t seem to know what to do with his mouth, with his breath. It ghosts against Shiro’s lips and Keith makes the softest sound, a little trill again, protesting when Shiro shifts as if to pull back.

So Shiro presses closer. He keeps the kiss soft, gentle, as he holds Keith, as he fights back his helpless, endeared smile. He’s overwhelmed. It’s too much and not enough at once. He never wants to stop holding Keith.

Shiro kisses Keith slow, almost hesitant, just a gentle press of his mouth to Keith’s. Keith breathes out a little sigh and presses closer, kissing more firmly. The hands on his cheeks shift back, dragging through the soft buzz of his undercut and cupping the back of his head, keeping Shiro anchored there. Keith makes that same sound again, a disbelieving sound, gloriously, helplessly hopeful. Shiro’s own sound is a responding sigh, his hands sliding up Keith’s back and pulling him in closer.

He kisses Keith and he kisses Keith and he kisses him— again and again. If he has any say, he’ll never stop.

He’s hardly aware of the feeling of Keith pushing him back against the wall until he feels the hard press of the metal at his back, feels Keith shiver into his space. And then, maybe feeling bold, Keith licks into his mouth and it makes Shiro gasp, forgetting how to breathe. He’s mesmerized by the way Keith pushes forward, running ever onward.

He licks into Shiro’s mouth and Shiro groans, fingers curling up tight in his hair, dragging him in. He kisses him, slow and deep, plying out every sound he can from Keith, trying to steal the very air from his lungs. If he can spell out his devotion this way, he will. If he can make it clear how cosmically, how exponentially, he loves Keith, he will.

Shiro mumbles Keith’s name when Keith’s teeth drag across his bottom lip. He tries to say it again but Keith just growls, kissing him harder. It makes Shiro laugh, the sound bubbling out of him, delirious and untethered. It feels unreal. All of this feels like a dream. He tightens his grip in Keith’s hair, knocking the bun loose entirely.

Shiro tries to breathe, tries to tip back enough to say Keith’s name. But Keith just chases after him, swallowing Shiro’s surprised laugh with the pillow of his lips over his. It’s eager. It’s like too much at once, like a meteor shower out in the desert. He smiles when Keith growls again.

They’re interrupted only because LP’s decontamination sequence launches, blasting them with soapy water.

Keith breaks the kiss with a sputtering hiss of shock, eyes flying wide open, his face flushed.

Somehow, it feels appropriate that this would be how their first kiss would end. It makes Shiro laugh even as he feels like he’s floating. Their first kiss. Keith just kissed him. He’s holding Keith in his arms and now Keith’s hissing like a cat because he’s been hit with water.

Shiro’s laugh feels too low, too throaty and graveled out.

They suffer through the decontamination soap-down and wait for the wind-blasted second stage. Keith grumbles when that hits, too, the sudden blast of air too loud for them to speak over it. As if mocking them, the ship scans them afterwards and gives a resounding, approving chirp when they’re officially checked off as decontaminated.

Keith turns to look at him then, somehow managing to look shy despite shoving Shiro up against the wall.

Shiro smiles back at him, helpless and in love.

“Keith,” he murmurs, overwhelmed.

“I wondered,” Keith says, the admittance soft. “If— I wondered.”

“Yeah.” Shiro laughs again, delirious with it. “Sorry it took me so long. You— you should have heard it from me ages ago.”

Keith tilts his head, blinking at him, as if those are the words to overwhelm him. His expression looks wobbly once more, like he might tear up all over again. He manages to smooth his expression out, though, his hands lifting to cup Shiro’s cheeks.

And how easily Keith touches him now. It’s a victory hard-won, one that Shiro realizes he’s had for so long. How easily and how gently Keith reaches to touch him. Like Shiro is someone precious, too.

“I didn’t want to… fuck everything up,” Shiro admits.

Keith makes a sound then, a soft snort, and shoves in close again. He kisses Shiro before he can say anything else, and somehow that takes him by surprise all over again. He’s quick to respond, of course, his heart soaring in his chest as he cradles Keith’s face and kisses him.

It’s gentler this time, but no less determined on Keith’s part. His lips cushion against Shiro’s until Shiro opens to him, licking at his bottom lip and then pulling him close, sighing out when he feels Keith shiver against him.

It’s blissful to feel Keith pressing closer, Shiro’s arms wrapped around him. Blissful to feel the hush of Keith’s breath against Shiro’s kiss-damp lips. Blissful to feel the curve of Keith’s smile as he kisses Shiro, as he keeps kissing Shiro, as he kisses and kisses him—

“Oh, fuck,” Keith gasps, suddenly breaking their kiss. “Shit—! Sorry.”

“What?” Shiro asks, blinking. He feels like a teenager again, dazed because of one kiss.

“I love you, too!” Keith says and Shiro’s heart slams up into his throat. Keith’s brow furrows. “I can’t believe I didn’t say—”

Shiro cuts him off, kissing him desperately. Keith’s words cut off with the softest _mm—_ and then he goes quiet, kissing Shiro back and clinging to him. He melts in Shiro’s arms, sighing when Shiro deepens the kiss, when he licks into Keith’s mouth and tastes his smile, feels the rattle of his breath, the lowest whimper curling in his chest.

“You already have,” Shiro says once they break again to breathe. “I’m— I need to catch up. I’m sorry I’m so slow.”

“Stop apologizing,” Keith says, touching his cheek.

“I love you,” Shiro says instead, because he can, because he can see Keith’s face properly this time.

It’s worth it to see the way Keith lights up, as beautiful as any celestial body. More so. His eyes are bright as he looks at Shiro, his smile wobbly but _his_. He nods at the words, his breath a hiccupping, delighted little gasp.

“You beat me to it,” Keith says in a soft voice.

“What?”

“I was going to tell you,” Keith says, “once we got back to Earth.”

Shiro blinks, the words hardly connecting. The moments since the flares feel too surreal. One moment, he was out of the ship with Keith, shepherding alien not-cattle, looking at Keith and longing. And now, the words are free from him and he feels lighter. Keith’s in his arms. Keith’s kissed him. Keith’s smiling up at him and speaking like it’s normal, like they aren’t both completely breathless from kissing one another.

“You were?”

Keith nods. “I was going to wait. That way, if I was totally wrong, and you— and you didn’t—” He swallows. “Then we wouldn’t be awkwardly stuck in a small ship together.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. His brow scrunches. “Crap, I didn’t even think of that. Sorry.”

Keith laughs in his face, eyes sparkling as he shakes his head. “Ah, well…” He grins. “Good thing I love you back, then.”

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers, breathless. The words make his heart leap again, and he wonders if he’s ever going to get used to hearing those words. He never wants to. “Really good thing.”

Keith ducks his head, his smile wobbly and his breath hitching. He hides his face against Shiro’s chest and starts laughing. It rumbles through him, trembling as Shiro rubs his back. That delirious energy bubbles in Shiro’s chest, too. He can’t help his responding laugh, the nervous energy bursting out of him. All that fear, all that longing— leaving him now.

It’s okay. He’s still here. And so is Keith.

“Sorry,” Shiro says again, softer still, voice cracking around their laughter. “I— I took my damn time with this one.”

Keith shakes his head. “You don’t have to be afraid of messing up with me.” His eyes are like liquid fire when he says, “I was already yours, Shiro.”

The words make Shiro gasp. It punches him deep in his gut and his chest feels tight. He blushes at the words, at the fierceness of them.

Keith blushes, too, but refuses to back down. He stares up at Shiro, as if daring him to disagree. And, really, there’s nothing that Shiro can say— he ducks down and kisses Keith then, slow and steady. It feels inevitable to fall into Keith’s orbit like this, to be an ever-falling star for him.

Keith breaks the kiss quickly, though, insistent when he whispers, “More and more…” He blinks his eyes open, looking up at Shiro. “I think that I was born to meet you.”

Only then does he find Shiro’s cheeks, cupping him gently, holding him like he’s precious.

Shiro makes a sound. He knows he does. But words escape him as he lets Keith bring him back down and kiss him again— and again and again and again.

Keith makes a sound, hooking his arm around Shiro’s shoulders and pulling Shiro away from the wall. They stumble across the airlock, fumbling their way out until they’re pressing back against the cockpit’s entrance, the door stubbornly shut to them. It doesn’t matter. Shiro’s more than familiar now with the cool press of metal at his back and Keith there against him.

He kisses Keith, devotional and serene, committed to showing Keith just how loved he is. He kisses him just on the edge of desperation, as if he could somehow put to action all the years of silence through this alone.

Keith, for his part, seems just as determined. He whispers Shiro’s name and licks into his mouth. Shiro’s hands drag down Keith’s back, following the curve of his spine. He cups Keith’s hips, then his waist, then back up to cup the back of his head, unsure or unwilling to commit to one spot to touch, wanting to hold Keith everywhere, wanting to have him always this near.

“Opening the door,” Keith mumbles into his mouth. It’s the only warning Shiro gets before the door opens behind Shiro and he nearly falls onto his back. He manages to keep his balance because of Keith’s grip on him.

That feels like dancing, being dipped in the ballroom by Keith’s sure hold. He lets Keith push him back, leading him back, until he’s shoved down into his chair and Keith’s hunching over him, kissing him in turn. It’s certainly a more comfortable position for Shiro.

Shiro hooks his hands around Keith’s hips and yanks, pulling him into his lap. Keith goes with a gasp, settling there and then resuming his enthusiastic kissing, throwing his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Far more comfortable for Keith, too, then hunching over him.

“You have no idea,” Shiro mumbles between the smattering of kisses Keith presses against his mouth, “how long I’ve wanted to kiss you—”

“Not as long as me,” Keith says back, dragging his teeth pointedly across Shiro’s bottom lip. Shiro feels the bite of fangs and can’t help but groan. Keith’s panting when he draws back, eyes slit and Galra yellow.

“Is it a competition?” Shiro teases.

“If it is, then I’m the winner,” Keith says and licks his lips. He frowns when his tongue drags across one of his fangs, as if taken by surprise by his own heightened reaction. 

He’s so hot it’s nearly stunning, Shiro thinks.

“Are you sure?” Shiro asks, determined to tease. “Because I’ve loved you since—”

“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen,” Keith interrupts, staring Shiro in the eye. The words, the surety with which Keith says them, the immediacy, actually does manage to stun Shiro. His eyes widen. Keith shrugs, playing with the longer piece of Shiro’s bangs, pushing it from his face. “Yeah.”

He leans in then, pressing his forehead to Shiro’s. Their noses brush. Shiro feels breathless both from the words and from the kiss.

Keith’s expression softens as he closes his eyes, the words sighing out of him. “I love you so much.”

Shiro whimpers at the words, letting them rush through him. He never wants to get used to hearing it. He never wants to stop hearing it.

The fear, the longing— it feels so distant now, drowned out by the joy that swirls within him. He was a fool. He was always a fool.

He makes a little sound then, somewhere between a cry and a laugh. “I’m definitely taller than you.”

Keith jerks back to give him a bewildered look.

“You were talking about me,” Shiro says. “On T’vinb.”

Keith blinks and then he laughs, nose wrinkling, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world— it’s all too much, an entire universe, just holding Keith like this. Just knowing that Keith is his. That he belongs to Keith, too.

“Obviously,” Keith says in a low mumble. “Yeah. You— I was really obvious.”

“I feel like I was, too,” Shiro says. He traces his hand up Keith’s spine, feeling him shiver.

Keith bites his lip and then nods, tentatively. “I— I thought maybe, yeah. Eventually. I— um. I got it eventually.”

Shiro’s mouth opens in surprise, but before he can say anything, Keith’s hand is there. He touches Shiro’s cheek, fingertips brushing along the line of his scar, staring into his eyes.

“I hoped, at least,” Keith says. His smile is tentative, almost shy when he looks at Shiro.

“Me too,” Shiro says. “I… I got it eventually.”

Keith smiles wider then, his expression soft. Shiro leans in to kiss him and Keith is there to meet him, the kiss far gentler, far more chaste than the ones before. Keith turns his head, nuzzling at Shiro’s cheek, kissing there and then the line of his jaw.

And somehow, it feels normal. They’ve done this all before, really. They’ve held each other like this, they’ve said these things to one another. All that’s been missing is this last step. Shiro thinks he should maybe feel more terrified, more unsure of what comes next, of what they do now.

But in this moment, he’s only happy.

“I wasn’t sure if it was something you’d want,” Keith says. He fumbles at Shiro’s perplexed look. “I just— I know since the war ended, things have been tough and—”

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro says. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Keith first goes quiet, then he laughs, strained and overwhelmed. He hugs Shiro and that, too, is easy, something they’ve always done— it’s always been easy to hug Keith, to hold him in his arms.

“If anything, I—” Shiro laughs. “I know what you’re going to say to this. But so often I feel like I’m not—”

 _Worth it,_ he wants to say. He doesn’t quite manage to say it before Keith’s diving at him and kissing him again, like he might chase away that insecurity, the one he must have seen in Shiro’s eyes before he even said it. Keith’s kiss is biting, a low growl curling in his chest as he kisses Shiro.

“You are,” Keith insists, mouth pressed to Shiro’s. “You _are._ You’re everything to me, Shiro.”

Shiro makes a sound, leaning away from the kiss. He blinks up at Keith. Hushed, he says, “Keith.”

“You know I don’t… I’m not great with sappy stuff,” Keith says, which Shiro really doesn’t think is true. Keith’s ears turn pink as he looks down. “But— but you know. I. I’ve always thought that I was born to meet you. That it’s— if there’s a fate, then I think we were fated to meet.”

“Keith,” Shiro says again, breathless now.

Keith’s smile is embarrassed but relentless. He looks up at Shiro, his eyes bright. “Maybe— maybe that’s a Galra Thing. Being all intense about your person.”

 _Your person._ Shiro’s heart leaps as he lets those words shimmer between them. He feels sparkly. He feels like a burning star. He laughs, shaking his head, breathless and overwhelmingly in love.

“No,” he says. “I think that’s maybe just a Keith Thing.”

Keith laughs, his smile gentling. “… Is it a Shiro Thing, too?”

Shiro feels his eyes go misty and he blinks rapidly to clear his vision. He tugs Keith down into his arms, cradling him close. Keith goes willingly, making that soft trilling sound and curling his arms around Shiro in turn.

“Yeah,” Shiro croaks. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“I found you,” Keith says. “And I’m never going to let you go. I meant everything I said. Whatever happens— I’ll be there with you, Shiro.”

Shiro nods. Never once has he doubted that. He hums when Keith bumps his nose against his jaw, insistent. When he turns his head to kiss Keith again, it feels blissful, like coming home.

-

Shiro has no idea how long they stay like that.

He loses all sense of time like that, Keith draped in his lap, kissing him breathless. He loses sense of himself, only aware of the hush of his breath and the way Keith moves against him. His jaw aches with kissing Keith for so long, his mouth sensitive from kissing. But he doesn’t want to stop. He never wants to stop.

It’s Keith who breaks the kiss eventually, looking breathless and flushed. His eyes are still Galra-slit, his mouth kiss-swollen. He blinks at Shiro, looking fuzzy at the edges but unbearably, unspeakably happy.

“Are you comfortable?” Keith asks. He licks his lips, voice so husky that it punches Shiro in the gut. “We could— um. We’ll probably be more comfortable downstairs.”

“I mean,” Shiro murmurs as Keith leans in close, kissing over Shiro’s jaw and nuzzling against his ear. “We should probably— the flimulp are gone, I think.” He looks over Keith’s shoulder, and sure enough, there’s a path clear for them to keep traveling if they wish. He sighs when Keith sucks on his jaw, his fangs dragging across his skin. “And, um, we should eat something—”

“Shiro,” Keith says around a sigh. “You can’t expect me to eat when I can finally kiss you.”

It makes Shiro laugh, delighted and nervous at once. “Wow, Keith.”

Keith blushes but rolls his eyes. He crawls out of Shiro’s lap, his knees popping at the sudden shift in position. It’s true that Shiro’s liked the pleasant weight of Keith in his lap, but it’s also nice to stand and stretch his legs.

He manages one step towards the door before Keith tugs him back, kissing him. It’s short, sweet, and barely a peck, but it makes Shiro smile stupidly.

They make their way down into the living quarters, Keith sliding down the ladder as Shiro climbs down. It feels different to enter their space like this, with this new context. So much feels like it’s changed and yet, of course, so little has— it’s just been put into words.

The wolf looks up from his bed in the corner, ears twitching. Keith smiles as he scrubs a hand through his fur and says, “Hey, bud… you want to go hang out in the cockpit for a— hm. Um, a while? I’ll get you when it’s time for food.”

The wolf licks Keith’s hand. Shiro feels like he’s being judged when the wolf looks his way, then back up at Keith. He has no idea if that’s projecting or not because even after a month in space together, Shiro’s not entirely sure of how much the wolf is aware of things. Still, he blushes to think of the wolf knowing they’ve just come down here to make out.

Regardless, the wolf wags his tail once and then flickers out of existence, presumably to camp out in the cockpit.

Keith turns back towards him with a grin, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the bed.

“Now… Where were we?” Keith asks, laughing. 

There’s something so loaded in the action and the words that Shiro can’t help but blush, laughing nervously as Keith hops into it and pulls Shiro along with him.

“It’s okay,” Keith tells him and then kisses him.

Shiro hums, fingers curling in Keith’s loose hair and cradling him close, sucking on his bottom lip as if to say that yes, he knows it’s okay. It’s more than okay.

They spend the evening like that, just holding one another and kissing. It’s easy. It’s what they’ve been doing for weeks now— and it feels good to finally hold Keith and know that Keith wants to be held, wants to hold him back exactly like this.

The bed is far more comfortable than the cockpit. Shiro stretches out with Keith beside him, running his hand down Keith’s waist, over his hip, and down his thigh, then back up again. He feels every little shiver that Keith makes, tastes his smile and hears him sigh as they kiss, alternating between deep and desperate and something lighter and more playful.

With comfort in kissing, Keith grows bold. He bites and tugs on Shiro’s lower lip when he wants Shiro to kiss him harder. He sucks on his tongue in his mouth with a low, desiring growl. His fingers curl tight in Shiro’s spacesuit, claws pricking him even through the fabric. He kisses with all the surety and intensity that Shiro would expect from Keith.

“Keith,” Shiro sighs and every time he says his name like that, like it’s a prayer, like it’s a vow, he feels Keith tremble, hears the lowest trill of disbelief and pleasure. Keith always kisses him harder after that.

Shiro can’t wait to learn all these things about Keith. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get tired of kissing Keith.

Keith creeps closer, fingers curling over Shiro’s chest, twisted up in his suit. Shiro sighs happily when Keith squirms in tight to him, kissing him ferociously. Shiro’s breath hitches into a gasp when he feels Keith hook his leg over Shiro’s hip, bringing them ever closer.

Shiro sighs as he kisses Keith, focusing on that. But then Keith shifts his hips somewhat more pointedly, pressing against Shiro. And, well—

Keith’s hard.

Shiro breaks the kiss with a surprised breath, blinking at Keith. Keith stares back at him, unembarrassed despite the flush to his cheeks. He looks fucked-out already, lips swollen from kisses and his hair a mess from how many times Shiro’s played with it.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, breathless.

Keith hums back, kissing the corner of Shiro’s mouth and then his nose, his cheek, the line of his jaw. He hums again when he presses his hips close and Shiro has to bite back a groan, his throat flexing. Keith nuzzles at his jaw, his mouth a sweet curve.

“So,” Keith says, voice low and graveled out.

“So?” Shiro prompts.

Keith draws back enough to look into Shiro’s eyes. So close like this, Shiro can see every speck of color in his molten eyes. He seems to study Shiro in turn, his expression fond, but promising. He looks too pretty like that, obviously just-kissed and his cheeks that pretty red-plummy color.

Expectant. That’s the way Keith’s looking at him.

Shiro laughs. “We don’t—” He cups Keith’s hip. “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for, Keith.”

Keith snorts. His grin is near feral, all glinting teeth. “Uh huh.”

Shiro blinks at him.

Keith blinks back. “Oh. You were serious.”

Shiro stares, the words settling, and then he frowns. It’s not a pout. “I’m being considerate—”

“Spare me,” Keith says, swinging his hip forward more purposefully, his leg draping across Shiro’s thighs. It brings them into one another. Shiro’s sure Keith can feel that he’s half-hard, too. Impossible not to be after all that kissing, after hearing all the sounds Keith can make and feeling him beneath his hands.

“Keith—”

“You have no idea,” Keith murmurs, touching Shiro’s face, “just how long I’ve wanted you, do you?”

“Ah,” Shiro says, blushing, and smiles. “Since you were sixteen?”

“You say that like a joke but it’s the truth,” Keith grumbles. He ducks his head, hiding it against Shiro’s shoulder. It’s just like Keith, somehow, to be so bold and yet so shy at the same time. Helplessly, Shiro kisses the shell of Keith’s blushing ear.

“Sorry,” Shiro says. Keith twists his head around to pout at him, brow furrowed. “Ah, right, sorry again— no more apologies. That’s the last one.”

Keith rolls his eyes and kisses him. Shiro sighs, melting as he kisses him back. He’s quickly learning that this will always be the quickest, best way to soothe him. He curls his fingers in Keith’s hair.

“I want to be with you,” Keith says, and now he looks more shy than bold, his expression turning gentle and fragile at the edges. “But… but only if you want.” Keith’s face twists up and he cringes. “Um. Is that too fast? Too weird?”

“Not too fast and not too weird,” Shiro promises. “Keith. _Keith._ Of course I want you, too.”

Keith’s expression eases at that, his shy smile blooming into a delighted grin. He sits up a bit, shoving his hair back from his face and takes a breath. “Okay. Okay! Good.”

Shiro laughs, his heart pounding. “Do you, uh—” He stops. “There’s no sexy way to ask this.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You could ask me what’s for breakfast and it’d be sexy.”

Shiro blinks in surprise, somehow the words enough to make his entire face burn. Keith snorts at his reaction, even if the plummy blush spreads over his cheeks, too.

They’re ridiculous.

“You’re sure?” Shiro asks.

Keith scoffs again. “Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been to sleep in the same bed as you for over a month?”

“Oh, well,” Shiro says and grins. “I might have some idea.”

Keith looks like he’s holding back a smile, but quickly gives up on fighting it. Shiro lifts his hand, cupping the back of his neck.

“Come here,” he says, and Keith goes to him, lying out beside him.

They kiss again, slower this time, more purposeful and weighted. Keith seems determined to dive right in, his fingers plucking at Shiro’s spacesuit.

Shiro’s overwhelmed just with the thought of it— but doesn’t let himself pause to think before he breaks the kiss and lets Keith tug at the zipper for his suit at the back of his neck, helping ease it down and peel off his skin. Keith’s quiet as he traces his fingertips over Shiro’s chest, following the curve of one scar over his pectoral.

“I should have guessed you’d go from zero to a hundred,” Shiro says.

Keith gives a pleased hum, his hands dragging over Shiro’s chest. He touches at each scar, drags his fingers over Shiro’s clavicle, thumbs at both nipples, and settles his fingertips at Shiro’s abs, fingers slightly curled.

“Yep,” Keith says, and Shiro loves how happy he looks, thoroughly unembarrassed or unashamed of his desires.

Shiro forces himself to breathe evenly as he kisses first Keith’s mouth and then down his neck. He hears Keith’s purr now. It’s definitely a purr. Shiro nuzzles, sucking a bruise into Keith’s skin, feeling the vibrations beneath his lips.

Keith tilts his head back, sighing and luxuriating in the attention, his hands tracing over every available inch of Shiro’s skin.

“I know what you’ll say,” Shiro says. “‘Spare me’ and all that— but. You know. Whatever you want to do, just tell me. Whatever you want, Keith.”

“Geez,” Keith says, blushing when Shiro draws back to look at him.

“What?” Shiro protests. “I mean it!”

“I know you do,” Keith says. “It’s sweet.” He shakes his head, tracing his fingers over Shiro’s clavicle. “I, uh. Well. You can probably guess I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s okay,” Shiro says immediately.

“Yeah, I know it is,” Keith says with a roll of his eyes. He kisses Shiro, just a quick peck. “I just— you know. Want it to be good. For you, and all that.”

Shiro hums, sitting up and tugging Keith upright, too. He plays with Keith’s hair, tucking it away from his face. “Keith,” he says with all the seriousness he can muster, “You could come in two seconds and it’d still be perfect to me.”

The words work: Keith bursts out in surprised, shocked laughter. “Fuck off! Have some faith I’ll last longer!”

Shiro laughs, too, rocking backwards when Keith shoves him playfully. The tension eases from Keith’s shoulders, relaxed and happy again as he crawls after Shiro and kisses him. Keith hums when Shiro cups his face, kissing him deep with a gentle drag of his tongue.

Shiro shifts away enough to help Keith with his zipper, too. Keith has to shimmy to get out of his clingy spacesuit, but manages to get it pooled at his hips. Keith sighs as Shiro’s hands glide down over his waist, cupping his hips. He slides his hands up again, tracing over his skin, touching every little bump of a scar he finds. He presses a reverent kiss to the biggest one on Keith’s shoulder from his Trials.

“Rest of it?” Shiro asks, fingers curling around Keith’s suit bunched up at his hips. He tugs. 

Keith lets out a breath. “Yep, that’s a spacesuit, alright,” he says inanely. Shiro gives him a fond look. Keith grins, shrugging. “Sorry. Nervous.”

“You forget,” Shiro says. “I’ve already seen you naked.”

“Skinny-dipping doesn’t count!” Keith protests, laughing. “You weren’t looking!”

“I definitely was.”

“Yeah, well, so was I,” Keith says with a soft laugh. “Come here.”

He pulls Shiro to him, kissing him sloppily. His hands find Shiro’s clingy spacesuit and shove it down seemingly before he can think better of it. Shiro chuckles, wriggling forward to get out of it. He’s torn, wanting to keep kissing Keith as he tugs his suit down, and wanting to break the kiss so he can look at and appreciate Keith properly— naked and beautiful and reaching for Shiro.

Kissing wins in the end. He’s quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of their mouths pressed together, to feeling Keith’s smile and swallowing the rush of his breath.

“God, you’re so pretty,” Shiro mumbles.

“You’re not even looking,” Keith says with a laugh, biting his bottom lip and tugging. His laugh hitches into a gasp when, tentatively, Shiro drags his left hand down over Keith’s stomach and lower, ghosting over his cock.

Shiro feels himself go breathless, too, overwhelmed with the knowledge that this is happening, that they’re doing this, that he gets to feel Keith like this.

He pulls back from the kiss so he can look properly. At first, Keith shifts, as if shy, and then takes a deep breath and pushes Shiro back. Shiro goes willingly, shifting back on the bed and watching as Keith lifts onto his knees. Keith breathes and lets Shiro watch.

Shiro knows Keith’s looking at him, too. He grins, overwhelmed with how pretty Keith looks like that— his hair a mess, his lips quirked into a little smile, the perfect strength of his body, the pretty curve of his cock against his stomach, the flex of his thighs as he sits on his knees.

“Wow,” Keith says, clearly unable to sit still because he’s already crawling to Shiro, his eyes dragging purposefully over Shiro’s body as he drinks him in, his face flushed. “Wow, Shiro, I—”

“Yeah—” Shiro agrees, already tilting his head to meet Keith’s kiss.

Keith crawls easily into his lap, cupping his cheeks and laying worship to his mouth, kissing him senseless.

“Oh,” Keith breathes when Shiro palms his cock. “Fuck—”

Encouraged, Shiro chases that feeling, curling his fingers around Keith’s cock and stroking him off slowly, testing the girth and length of him, the way he twitches in his hand, that pretty flush of plum to his dick that Shiro loves. Keith trembles in his arms, inching closer in his lap.

Keith breaks the kiss to look down, watching the way Shiro’s hand glides over his cock. He’s flushed, watching with undisguised delight.

“Sorry it’s a bit jerky,” Shiro says. “And I don’t mean that as a pun.”

Keith snorts, shaking his head. “It’s okay,” he says, stilling Shiro’s hand and tugging it away. He reaches for Shiro’s larger right hand instead. “I, uh— yeah, this is okay, too. If it’s easier.”

“It’s big.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, eyes sparkling. “ _I know._ ”

He guides Shiro’s hand down, coaxing Shiro to curl his large metal fingers around Keith. Keith gives a pleased trill and rocks his hips up, chasing the feeling. And Shiro’s more than happy to give that to him, stroking him off as they move together.

Keith seems to remember himself a moment later, reaching out for Shiro’s cock. Shiro sucks in a pleased breath as Keith’s slight fingers drag across him, then curl around the base. He watches Keith for his reaction, flushing happily at Keith’s little trill of delight as his fingers close around his cock and start stroking.

“I’m going to sound stupid,” Keith says.

“Say it,” Shiro says, grinning.

Keith bites his jaw instead and then kisses him, squeezing his cock and then stroking, mimicking the languid pace Shiro sets around Keith’s cock. They stay like that, kissing one another, unhurried as they stroke one another off.

Shiro feels his heart racing, delighted not just with the touch, but that it’s Keith there with him, Keith he gets to kiss. He presses a trail of kisses along Keith’s jaw, smiling when he hears Keith start to purr, back arching as he squirms closer.

It means Keith’s pouring into his lap more, pressing closer. Shiro lets go of Keith’s cock so he can wrap his massive hand around both of them, holding Keith close as Keith starts rocking against him, rutting and seeking that friction as he rolls his hips forward, his cock sliding against Shiro’s.

Shiro groans, stroking them both off. His free hand finds Keith’s, tugging it forward to cover his metal hand, so the two of them are stroking each other off together. Keith whines low in his throat, shuddering with a breathless whine of Shiro’s name.

Shiro sucks a bruise against his neck, nuzzling close and addicted to every sound Keith makes. He works his way down, laying kisses across Keith’s collarbones. He squeezes around their cocks, letting Keith rut forward. He has to hunch a bit to lick and kiss over Keith’s chest, but it’s worth it to let his teeth graze over one of Keith’s nipples, leaving Keith crying out and bucking his hips hard into the circle of Shiro’s fist.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah?” Shiro asks.

“Don’t be— so fucking smug—” Keith laughs, fingers curling tight in the longer bits of Shiro’s hair and pinning it away from his face. “Hn… Hi, Handsome.”

“Oh god,” Shiro gasps, stuttering to a halt. “Oh no, don’t call me that—”

“Hi, Handsome,” Keith says again pointedly and grins at Shiro’s startled, stuttering reaction.

It’s hardly payback, but Shiro drags his free hand down Keith’s back to cup his ass, pulling him in harder against them. Keith lets out a pleased sigh as he arches and rocks into his hand, desperate, grinding down in response.

They move like that, grinding together, Shiro remembering to actually move his hand, squeezing and stroking over Keith especially, focusing on him, on the pretty purple of his cock, the way it twitches with pleasure. Keith’s thighs tremble as he moves, his chest heaving with his barely-held breaths.

“Fuck,” Keith moans, wrapping his arm around Shiro’s shoulders and moving against Shiro in earnest, his hand covering his still. “Fuck, Shiro—”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, gasping, “Yeah, Keith. You’re so— you’re so pretty. You’re so—”

Keith kisses him, sloppy and distracted. Shiro moans and kisses him back, letting Keith suck on his tongue, fangs dragging across him as he tries to squirm closer, losing the pacing and just fucking into Shiro’s hand.

“Love you,” Shiro pants into his mouth. “So much, I—”

“Mm,” Keith whimpers, clinging as he moves. He mouths at Shiro’s jaw, panting and unable to coordinate enough to actually kiss him. “Me too. Fuck, Shiro.”

It feels good to move like this, almost too much. He’s loved Keith for so long, has wanted to be with Keith for so long. Actually _being_ with him threatens to be overwhelming. Somehow, he’d never let himself imagine this too deeply, imagine what it would really feel like, what it would be like to hold Keith in his arms, to hear these sounds, to fuck Keith while they’re gasping for air and yet, somehow, still trying to kiss each other.

Maybe it was always meant to be like this— that they’d spend so long finding one another, but no time at all to do this together. It makes sense to feel Keith shuddering and gasping against his lips, chasing an orgasm because of the quick drag of Shiro’s hand. They’ve been patient enough.

“I’m—” Keith hiccups, shuddering. “About that two second thing—”

Shiro hums, kissing him gently. “Come if you have to, Keith. I’ve got you. We’ve got time.”

Keith whimpers like he doesn’t mean to and kisses Shiro harder, chasing that orgasm. He writhes in Shiro’s arms, thrusting up and fucking himself in Shiro’s hand, the sparking pleasure from the friction of their cocks moving together.

He loves the feeling of it, the way Keith moves against him. He’s so strong, so beautiful, and this is no different— the perfect flex of his body, the press of his lips, the drag of his fingers over him. Shiro feels drunk on it, on sex and love. On Keith.

Keith comes like that, panting against Shiro’s mouth and shuddering in his grasp. Shiro releases his own cock in favor of focusing on Keith, curling his big hand around him easily and stroking him off. Keith’s come goes everywhere, against his stomach and over Shiro’s knuckles. Keith moans as he rolls through it, shuddering and clinging to Shiro.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Shiro lets Keith push his hand away when it becomes too sensitive, his panting mouth full of fangs. He accepts Shiro’s kiss with a low keen, melting against Shiro’s chest.

When Keith blinks his eyes open, they’re Galra yellow and cat-slit. He smiles at Shiro, looking so pleased with himself. “Fuck, Shiro.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, squirming closer and kissing him again. It’s more a bump of his mouth against his rather than an actual kiss, but it still feels good to have him so close, shivering through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

They stay like that, Keith boneless and sweating. Shiro rubs his free hand up and down his back, then further up to pet through his hair.

“Wait! Fuck,” Keith says, jerking up. Shiro blinks in surprise, about to ask what’s wrong, but Keith answers that well enough when his hand finds Shiro’s cock and he starts stroking him off.

It makes Shiro laugh, which earns him a glare from Keith. Shiro kisses his nose and then lets Keith fuck him with his hand, twisting his fingers at the crown and sweeping down, squeezing and letting Shiro rock into it. They move like that, Keith seemingly determined to give Shiro the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life.

And, well, it is. It’s blissful to have Keith’s hands on him, to feel the brush of Keith’s lips against his cheek as he whispers Shiro’s name. When Shiro comes, it’s with a moan of Keith’s name, too, spilling out over Keith’s stomach and over his hand, making an absolute mess of him.

“Fuck,” Keith breathes, like he can’t believe he gets to witness it. His eyes seem unable to stay on one thing— flitting between watching Shiro’s face and his twitching cock.

Remarkably, Keith’s already half-hard. Galra stamina, maybe, or just enthusiasm— Shiro isn’t sure. It’s flattering and a little terrifying.

He cups Keith’s chin and drags him in, kissing him until neither of them can breathe.

“Doing okay?” Shiro asks once he can catch his breath.

“Mm,” Keith hums, looking blissed out as he plays with a sweaty strand of Shiro’s hair. He smiles at him, sweet and fucked-out. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro says, still thrilling in hearing it and saying it.

“I’m covered in your come,” Keith says with such earnestness that Shiro isn’t sure if he should apologize or congratulate Keith.

“Do— Should I clean you off?”

“Nah,” Keith says, dragging his fingers through the come on his stomach. He’s blushing, looking very pleased with himself and the action makes his dick twitch. Shiro files that away for another day.

Shiro eyes Keith’s cock then looks back up at him. He’s unbearably pretty like this, face flushed that pretty purple, flushed down far enough to kiss over his chest and nipples, his belly heaving with his breath, shiny with their come. His dick’s half-hard and his hair’s a mess. He’s never looked more perfect.

“So…” Shiro says. He lets his eyes drag down Keith’s body and then back up again, smiling. “Sorry that wasn’t the fanciest first time, but—”

“Shut up,” Keith says. “Seriously. If you apologize again, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. He laughs because he has no doubt Keith would do it. So, instead, he grins and leans in to kiss Keith, swallowing Keith’s grumble.

“No more apologizing,” he promises. He presses his forehead to Keith’s, bumping their noses together. “That was good, Keith.”

Keith shivers, throwing his arms around Shiro’s neck and anchoring him close. “Yeah.”

“And if you want more,” Shiro says, hand sliding down Keith’s chest and dragging his fingertips across Keith’s cock, “I could blow you.”

“Wow!” Keith gasps. And then he laughs at his reaction, blushing and looking embarrassed. He shoves at Shiro’s shoulder like it’s his fault. “Uh huh, yep. Definitely, please.”

Shiro laughs at the answer and kisses Keith again, unable to resist it. He could kiss Keith forever.

“Scoot back, then.”

Keith does so, scrambling backwards, shoving aside the blankets and kicking their discarded spacesuits off the bed.

But then he plucks up Shiro’s admiral coat— discarded earlier that day and forgotten, shoved down towards the foot of the bed because of all their writhing.

Keith goes to toss that down onto the floor, too, but Shiro hears himself choke out, “Wait.”

“What is it?” Keith asks and turns to look at him. He must see something unasked in Shiro’s eyes because his eyebrows shoot up and then, slowly, his lips quirk into a disbelieving smile. “ _Oh._ ”

“Oh,” Shiro agrees. “You— yeah. You should wear it again.”

“The one arm flex really did it for you, huh?” Keith asks, laughing. He thumbs at one of the brass buttons and then shrugs. He sits up onto his knees, shoving one arm through the sleeve and the other through where the sleeve should be. “Well. We might as well make it dirtier, right?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Shiro agrees, voice absolutely breathless.

It makes Keith laugh at him, but that’s okay. Shiro loves his laugh. He loves seeing him so confident, so happy— so goddamn sexy that Shiro can barely stand it. Even more so when, naked and come on his stomach, Keith adjusts the coat’s collar and lets it hang off his shoulders again.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, grinning. “This doing it for you?”

“Definitely,” Shiro says and laughs. “Is that weird?”

“Nope. You’re hot,” Keith says with a shake of his head. He leans back against the wall and spreads his thighs, blushing. “I recall you saying something about blowing me.”

“Ha—” Shiro laughs, already scooting down the bed towards him. “Well, I can’t deny a request from an _admiral._ ”

“Fuck off,” Keith says, also laughing, and cups Shiro’s jaw to bring him in and kiss him quiet instead.

“Admiral Keith,” Shiro teases against his kiss, barely muffling his grin. “What an honor to be in the presence of the most beautiful admiral in the universe.”

“God, shut up,” Keith says, sputtering. He shoves Shiro’s head down. “Stop talking.”

“Wow,” Shiro breathes, startled by how much he likes Keith’s casual manhandling. He presses a kiss to Keith’s belly, licking at one of the stripes of come, and nuzzles in close. “Yes, _sir._ ”

“Fuck,” Keith says breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Just relax,” Shiro says and winks. He feels silly doing it but it makes Keith sputter a soft laugh, so it’s worth it.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Keith agrees and does indeed relax, lounging back against the wall and spreading his legs to make space for Shiro there.

Shiro presses another kiss to Keith’s stomach and then works his way down. Up close, he gets to appreciate just how pretty Keith’s cock is, how nicely it fits in the palm of his hand, the sweet curve of it.

He strokes Keith off casually, helping coax him to full hardness again, and he smiles as he listens to the sounds Keith makes, getting to see the up-close tremble of his legs, the quiver of his belly. He knows Keith’s never gotten this before, so he’s determined to make it the best he’ll ever have.

He slips Keith’s cock up and takes him in his mouth, swallowing around the cockhead. He pauses, though, when after just a moment of suckling, Keith’s breath hitches into a small laugh.

Shiro looks up. He knows he’s out of practice, but he must look scandalized enough because Keith giggles and shakes his head. “No! Sorry! I just—”

“What?” Shiro asks, pouting as he pulls off Keith’s cock. “Too soft?”

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Keith mumbles and then laughs as his own joke occurs to him again. “I just— wow. My dick’s in your mouth.”

“Well not _currently,_ ” Shiro says, “because someone is being rude.”

Keith grins at him, thoroughly unrepentant. He looks good like that, flushed and panting, Shiro’s jacket hanging off his shoulders. The one sleeve should look utterly stupid, but, well. It’s Keith. Of course he looks hot. Shiro’s so gone on him it’s almost ridiculous.

Shiro turns his head and bites at Keith’s thigh. It makes Keith’s laugh taper off into a breathy moan, which is also a very lovely sound. Shiro can’t even be annoyed by Keith’s reaction, too charmed by the way he looks, by the sound of his joy.

He makes Keith happy. It’s an overwhelming thought— that he can be the cause of that happiness.

“Please,” Keith says, breathless, “I won’t laugh.”

“You can laugh,” Shiro says and kisses his thigh, right over where he left the bite mark. “I like your laugh.”

“You sap.”

“You have no idea,” Shiro says.

Keith smiles at him, moony. Shiro’s sure his smile is similarly besotted. He doesn’t even care. Keith’s hand slips from his hair and cups his cheek and Shiro’s quick to lean into that touch, his eyes soft.

Shiro turns his head and kisses his palm. “Okay. Sucking you off now.”

“By all means,” Keith says, laughing.

Shiro moves forward again, resuming his previous position. He spends a moment stroking Keith off before he once again takes his cock into his mouth. He bobs his head, getting used to the pleasant buoyancy of Keith’s cock in his mouth, the slide of his tongue across his skin, the ache to his jaw, already sore from all the kissing.

It’s perfect. Keith groans, seemingly unbothered by Shiro’s lack of practice— how could he know, anyway, really— and together they set the pace that works for them. Shiro laves his tongue and lips across Keith’s cock, working his way over the length of him, documenting every little sound Keith makes.

He can’t help but look up at Keith as they move together like that. Keith’s head is tilted to the side, his fangs digging into his bottom lip to stifle his sounds, his hair wild around him and clinging to his cheeks. He looks beautiful, ethereal and feral at once, his body moving in slow rolls as Shiro coaxes him to fuck into his mouth. The coat ripples around him, pooling at his hips and nearly sliding off his shoulders.

Keith’s panting by the time Shiro’s worked himself halfway down Keith’s cock. He suckles, moaning sweetly when Keith jerks his hips up, nearly too hard and too fast. Keith doesn’t apologize, but the slide of his fingers through Shiro’s hair is reverential. Shiro doesn’t mind. He thrives on the attention, on the possessiveness in the way Keith fucks into his mouth, the way he touches him.

He wants to feel this way forever. He cups Keith’s hips, guiding him forward to fuck harder and faster, shallow strokes dragging across his tongue. Keith hiccups a moan of Shiro’s name and obeys, fucking past Shiro’s lips.

Shiro groans appreciatively, letting himself get sloppy with how he licks over Keith, mouthing over Keith’s skin, the taste of precome on his tongue as he laps at the slit. He moans in approval when Keith rocks his hips forward, setting a steady pace.

Either Keith knows Shiro won’t draw back or it doesn’t occur to him to warn him, but Shiro feels the moment Keith gets close, how his movements become jerkier and more frenzied, how he gasps out Shiro’s name and holds tight to his hair, holding him still and fucking into his mouth.

Keith comes across Shiro’s tongue and Shiro groans at the feeling of it, at the taste as he swallows around Keith, squeezing his hips in encouragement and praise. Keith shudders apart above him, sweating and rocking forward, the coat slipping off one shoulder and pooling in the well of his elbow.

“Fuck,” Keith moans, panting. “Fuck, Shiro—”

Shiro suckles on him until he’s sure he’s spent, and only then draws back enough to press a series of kisses against each thigh, then his hips. He only moves away when Keith drags him up and kisses him. He’s not sure what Keith will make of the taste, but Keith just groans, licking into his mouth.

He crawls back into Shiro’s lap and starts grinding against him, body sliding against the hard curve of Shiro’s cock, made hard again from sucking Keith off and the friction across the mattress.

Shiro’s hands cup Keith’s ass and drag him in close, his cock sliding between his legs and against the cleft of his ass. Keith makes a pleased sound at the position and grinds down, Shiro’s cock sliding between his cheeks.

They kiss like that, slow and lazy and unhurried— that heat building between them again. Shiro still can’t believe he’s touching Keith like this. He wants to memorize every moment of it, the flex of Keith’s muscles, the way Keith gasps when his spent cock slides over Shiro’s belly, the perfect press of their mouths together.

Keith’s fangs drag across Shiro’s bottom lip and it’s the perfect sting. Keith smiles and then shoves Shiro down so he’s sprawled out on his back. Keith grins down at him, hands planted on his chest as he slides forward and back again, letting Shiro’s cock fuck against his ass.

“Enjoy the view,” Keith tells him, just on the edge of playful— like Shiro will find it a joke and not an actual command.

Shiro grips Keith’s hips, guiding him into the perfect friction, and they move like that. Keith ducks his head, his hair spilling forward, wisping across the black fabric of his admiral’s coat, crinkled and hanging off Keith’s body.

He’s beautiful like that, naked beneath the coat, his abs flexing as he moves, covered in come and sweat, little marks from Shiro’s teeth marking his body, proof that they’re here together. There’s so much more that Shiro wants to do, so much more that he wants to figure out— what Keith likes best, how Keith wants it.

He comes panting, seeing stars and Keith’s fanged grin, his eyes Galra yellow and smug.

“Fuck,” Shiro gasps, earnest and sweet and overwhelmed. “Fuck, you’re so pretty—”

Keith laughs, watery and overwhelmed, and shoves his hair from his face just before he ducks down to kiss Shiro. Shiro hums, hands lifting to knot Keith’s hair for him, holding it in his fist and kissing him sweetly.

They stay like that, pressed together and trying to catch their breaths.

“I love you,” Shiro murmurs once they part, because he’s never going to get tired of saying it.

Keith smiles, petting his fingers down Shiro’s jaw. “I love you, too, Shiro.”

He thinks Keith might start to tear up, just the slightest wobble to his voice. But Shiro kisses over his face until Keith laughs and shoves him away, his expression clearer.

“You’re a menace,” Keith says but it sounds suspiciously like praise.

Shiro hooks his hand in the collar of his coat and tugs Keith in, kissing him again and again. “Yep. And you’re stuck with me.”

“Lucky me,” Keith says, no trace of humor in his tone— only earnestly, only perfectly Keith.

They stay like that, rocking together in their bed, kissing and uncaring about the world around them. That is, of course, until there’s a burst of blue light and the wolf reappears with a mournful yowl, undoubtedly demanding the food Keith promised.

Keith nearly slips out of the bed in his shock to get them both covered, like they’ve just been walked in on. Then again, their intruder is a sentient, intelligent space wolf— maybe they absolutely have been walked in on.

“Don’t laugh!” Keith hisses when Shiro does just that, shoving a pillow down over Shiro’s crotch to give him some semblance of modesty, his other hand closing around the admiral coat to cover his come-slick stomach and half-hard cock. He throws the other pillow at the wolf, who darts away with an unhappy growl. “I said I’d come get you, you jerk!”

Shiro can’t stop laughing, going nearly breathless with it, especially when the wolf starts howling near the fridge and Keith has to drag himself from their bed and get him food before he gives them both a ringing headache.

And, really, it’s perfect. Shiro thinks it as he watches Keith grab some of the older leftovers and shove the food into a bowl for the wolf. It’s perfect. Everything, perfect.

Shiro’s happy. For the first time in a long time, he knows he’s truly, transcendentally happy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I emo about this being the last chapter? Absolutely. 
> 
> Want to give one final huge thank you to Jess & Kika for so diligently reading each chapter of this fic for me; your encouraging comments were always so motivating and reassuring, so thank you. 
> 
> This chapter's dedicated to Jamie. Thank you for all the support you gave this story and for loving it. Thanks for always being such a kind soul. Wish you were here. ♥ 
> 
> And this chapter is also for all of you! Thank you everyone who's read along over these past six months and enjoyed this story; your encouragement has meant so much to me! And if you're at this chapter now having just binged through it now that it's complete: hello ilu too.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the last chapter. Thanks for coming on this journey with me!

After the wolf’s finally satisfied with his food, tail flicking and howls finally ceasing, Keith turns back towards Shiro.

His smile is playful as he approaches again, holding Shiro’s admiral coat closed around his body. He also looks a bit shy, his bare feet padding across the way and coming to a stop just before their bunk. Up close, Shiro can appreciate the pretty curve of his smile, the blush to his cheeks, the wild curl of his hair.

“Sorry,” Keith says. “I didn’t think he’d just— show up.”

“It’s alright,” Shiro says, sitting up. “I—”

Keith doesn’t wait for Shiro to finish. He plants his knee on the bed, drapes his arms over Shiro’s shoulders, and kisses him. The sound Shiro makes is one of surprise, and then he melts into the touch, his hand cupping Keith’s hip and drawing him in closer until he scrambles into his lap.

It’s easy to just focus on just that. Easy, so easy, so _good_ to just kiss Keith and enjoy the pleasant weight of him in his lap.

“You think he’s satisfied?” Shiro asks once they break to breathe, tilting his chin towards the wolf in the eating area, devouring the food Keith set out for him.

Keith rolls his eyes and twists around to shoot another betrayed look at the wolf. Keith is beautiful even like that, his face in a sharp profile, Shiro’s coat slipping off one shoulder.

“He’s never satisfied,” Keith grumbles.

Shiro smiles, thinking about how good it’d be to kiss that shoulder— and then realizes that he’s allowed. Keith makes a small sound of surprise when Shiro presses a few short kisses against the slope of his shoulder, mouth brushing across his clavicle before settling at the base of his throat, feeling the soft vibration of Keith’s pleased hum beneath his lips.

“Seems you aren’t, either,” Keith teases, his fingers threading into Shiro’s hair. Keith punctuates the tease with a thoroughly besotted kiss to the top of Shiro’s head. He lingers there, nosing into Shiro’s hair and purring low in his throat. Shiro can feel it beneath his mouth.

Shiro laughs, feeling weightless and absurd, and tilts his chin up until Keith kisses him again. It’s slower this time, gentle and serene, his fingers combing through his hair and cradling the back of his head as they kiss.

It feels so good.

When they part again, Shiro knows his smile is moony. Keith looks embarrassed but pleased, blushing more and looking away with his own private smile, his fingers swirling little patterns at the back of Shiro’s neck.

“I’m really not used to this,” Keith admits.

“Me neither,” Shiro says, voice hushed. “But we— ha,” he laughs, overwhelmed with the mere thought of it. “We have all the time in the world to get used to it.”

Keith looks at him again and grins, his teeth still hinting the sharp point of fangs. He looks like he might say something and then second guesses it. He lurches forward then, but instead of kissing Shiro, he only wraps his arms tight around his neck and squeezes, hugging him.

“Oh,” Shiro whispers and hugs him back.

That’s easy, too. That hasn’t changed between them, after all. It’s always been easy to hold Keith, to hug him close. It’s different like this, Shiro still naked beneath the thin blanket thrown over his hips, Keith naked save for the sullied admiral’s coat, both of them still recovering from sleeping together. Because they _slept together._ Because they _love each other._

Shiro kisses Keith’s shoulder again and hugs him tight. His heart feels like it might well and truly burst.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Keith says.

“I was just thinking the same,” Shiro says with a soft laugh, rubbing Keith’s back. “It’s— it’s okay to be nervous.”

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m nervous,” Keith says, turning his head to press his face against Shiro’s neck, breathing him in.

“No?” Shiro says. “I am.”

Keith draws back to look at him, blinking. “It’s just me.”

“It’s just you,” Shiro agrees, running his hands up beneath the coat to trace his fingers along Keith’s spine. He feels Keith arch into that touch, chest swelling with a pleased breath. “But… I don’t want to mess this up. It’s _you._ ”

“You won’t,” Keith says instantly. “You can’t.”

“I was so afraid I was wrong,” Shiro says, heart pounding as Keith cups his cheeks and kisses him. It’s a quick touch, just a peck, just the two of them breathing, but it helps to steady Shiro. He presses his palms against Keith’s back. “I was so afraid I’d— I’d ruin everything.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Keith says. “After everything we’ve been through together? This is a walk in the park.”

Shiro laughs and kisses him again, humming softly when he feels Keith smile.

“I get it, though,” Keith murmurs once they part, pressing his forehead to Shiro’s, seemingly unwilling to draw too far away from him. Shiro resumes tracing along his back just for the sake of touching him. “I— well. Me too, yeah.”

He pets his thumb along Shiro’s cheek, tracing his cheekbone in a gentle little sweep. Shiro leans into the touch, his expression melting.

“I spent so long sure you’d never like me back,” Keith admits in a soft voice. He says it like it’s not a big deal, but the certainty of the words hit straight into Shiro’s heart, a sliver cracking inward.

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says. He runs his hands down Keith’s back and slots his palms gently over his hips. “I should have been telling you for years that I love you.”

“You haven’t loved me for years,” Keith teases, one hand falling to cover Shiro’s and giving it a little squeeze. His smile is playful. “Remember, I have you beat there.”

Shiro frowns at him, tipping away when Keith dips forward to kiss him. “Keith,” he says as Keith blinks at him. “I _have_ loved you for years. This isn’t a new feeling for me.”

“Oh,” Keith says, blinking again. He blushes. “Really?” He laughs then, brushing the hair from Shiro’s forehead. “Don’t make that expression…”

“What expression?” Shiro says, sure he looks devastated.

“Like you’re feeling guilty,” Keith says. He plucks up one of Shiro’s hands from his hip and presses a kiss to his palm. “I’m dense. You’ve never made me feel like I’m unloved, okay?”

“I should have been telling you from the start,” Shiro says.

“Shut up,” Keith says and jerks forward to kiss Shiro properly. He licks at his bottom lip and growls, squirming closer. It’s distracting, but Shiro’s unwilling to be distracted just yet, even if he does make sure to kiss Keith back. “You’ve always been my friend,” Keith says once they part again. “And I’ve always felt that. You’ve never made— if I ever felt like I was just bothering you or you were just putting up with me, it was my own shit. Nothing you did.”

Shiro nods. He knows Keith’s a man of action more than words. He knows that even if Shiro had never said it to Keith, Keith would always know that Shiro cares about him, that Shiro cherishes him as a friend.

“It’s still nice to hear the words, though,” Shiro says. He’s not pouting, but the twinkle in Keith’s eye suggests that he must think Shiro’s being cute. The idea is as shocking as it is warming, something glowing in his chest. He gets to recognize that expression now, one he’s seen for years but now has the context for.

“You’re right,” Keith says. He laughs. “Hey. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro says immediately and Keith laughs again.

“So…” Keith says, tangling his fingers with Shiro’s. “If you’ve loved me for years— when?”

“Huh?”

“When did you realize?” Keith asks. “Did you realize?”

Shiro blushes up to his ears and Keith makes a hooting sound, both of surprise and pleasure. He’s a menace after that, squirming closer and draping over Shiro, clearly expectant.

It feels strange to put voice to what he’s held inside for so long. But it also feels good, perfect even, to finally tell Keith how he feels. Yet as with all things in his life, he’s used to holding it inside himself. He’s used to never letting that sort of thing out into the open.

He squeezes Keith’s hand. “Ah… Well.”

“Mm,” Keith hums. “It’s okay if you don’t have a Moment. I don’t remember when I realized. It feels like I’ve loved you since always.” He shrugs. “I never had a ‘Oh shit, I love him,’ moment. I just… always loved you.”

He says it so casually, but Shiro knows it’s anything but. If Shiro’s become an expert in holding everything closely inside himself, then Keith is masterclass. Keith might speak with his actions, might wear his heart on his sleeve, unable to curtail his expressions— but Shiro knows it wasn’t an easy journey for him to be here now, to be able to speak about his feelings so freely. It might sound simple on the surface, but Shiro knows it’s not.

“Thank you,” Shiro says. He blushes deeper when Keith snorts. “What?”

“ _Thank you?_ ” Keith says, teasing. “How formal, Admiral.”

“You’re the only Admiral here,” Shiro says, tugging on the coat. Keith rolls his eyes, fighting back a grin. “And I mean it. I’m…” He shrugs, although it feels like the wrong gesture. Keith tilts his head at him. Shiro sighs. “I spent a long time wondering what I did to earn your loyalty.”

“Formal again,” Keith says again, softer though. He tugs on one of Shiro’s ears.

“You have no idea what your friendship has meant to me,” Shiro says. “And how grateful I am for it.”

Keith laughs gently, his eyes soft. “Likewise, Shiro.”

Shiro breathes out and tilts his head when Keith eases closer. Their mouths slant together, the kiss slow and gentle. It’s as easy as breathing and Shiro, truthfully, never wants to get used to any of this. He wants to always feel this sense of ballooning happiness bursting to life inside of him. He wants to live and breathe by the weight of Keith in his arms. He wants to be happy like this, forever, and to make Keith this happy in turn.

Keith is wonderful. Perfect. Beautiful. It’s all the more devastating now, to know that he’s the reason for the soft smiles, the sparkle in his eyes. To know that he, somehow, is the cause of Keith’s happiness.

Shiro holds tight to Keith, flipping them mid-kiss. It’s worth it to hear Keith’s squawk of surprise as he sprawls out on the bed beneath Shiro, his hair fanning out around him, the admiral’s coat falling open. Shiro presses down to him then, naked skin against naked skin, and Keith sucks in a breath, his eyelashes fluttering as his gaze flickers, torn between dragging down Shiro’s body or meeting his eyes.

He huffs as he looks up at Shiro. “That’s how it is?”

“Mm,” Shiro agrees, stroking his hand over Keith’s side. He feels the quiver of his breath, the slightest squirm when his fingers ghost too gently over his ribs. “Wow. You’re so pretty.”

Keith blushes, laughing. “You are literally the only person in the universe allowed to say so.”

“An honor I’ll never take lightly,” Shiro says.

Keith lifts his hand, cupping Shiro’s cheek. “Mm.” He tilts his head, gazing up at him. “So?”

“So?” Shiro parrots.

“Are you going to do something to make me look even prettier? Or just admire from afar?”

Shiro feels the air punch out of his lungs. “ _Wow_ , Keith.”

Keith grins. He looks so pleased with himself, his teeth sparking into those sharp points again, his hands firm where they hold Shiro with just a whisper of possession that, really, speaks to Shiro on a soul level.

“You’re always pretty,” Shiro says insistently, drifting down closer.

“Sap.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says as he leans down the rest of the way to kiss Keith sweetly. Keith hums, one leg splaying wide so he can wrap it around the back of Shiro’s thighs, bringing him down closer still, so that they’re pressed flush together.

Keith breaks the kiss just to cast a quick glance around the room, looking out for the wolf. But it seems in the time they’ve been talking, the wolf has retreated once more. With his head turned like that, Shiro takes the opportunity to pepper kisses along Keith’s jaw.

Keith sighs, sinking into the mattress and looking utterly pleased with himself.

“Do you remember the first time you ever piloted Black?” Shiro asks when he draws away again.

Keith blinks, brow pinching in surprise. He loops his arms around Shiro’s neck, tethering him close as he hums. “Yeah. Of course.”

“That was my moment.”

He lets the words settle between them. Keith’s eyes widen a fraction, and then his brow furrows further. “Wh—”

“That was my moment,” Shiro says again. “I— I already felt it, before then. But that was the moment that I _realized_ what I was feeling.”

Keith shakes his head, disbelieving. “You realized you loved me while running away from giant lizard aliens?”

He looks torn between incredulous and mortified. It’s such a cute look that Shiro can’t help but laugh, a dry little chuckle that bubbles out of him. The image, he has to admit, is a funny one.

“No,” Shiro says. “Afterwards.”

Keith frowns.

“It was after you’d dragged me by yourself out of that canyon and managed to start a fire on an alien planet.” He laughs, although Keith still looks too stunned to laugh with him. Shiro smiles. “I was so sure I was going to die there. Really.” At Keith’s expression, he adds quickly, “I’m sorry. I really did.” He strokes his hand along Keith’s flank, soothing him. “But _you_ were so sure I’d make it. You told me as much.”

Keith nods, a jerky little movement. He looks shell-shocked, still stunned in the way only Shiro’s casual mention of death can summon from him. Shiro knows Keith’s always hated that. Now, in hindsight, it makes all the more sense why he should.

“You said it so confidently. All I could think was… Wow, when did Keith become so capable, so strong, so resourceful?” He ducks his head, laughing. “And then I realized that you’d just always been that way. And I’d always loved you for it.”

Keith hiccups and it’s only then that Shiro realizes that he’s teared up again. He hits Shiro’s shoulder with a loose fist, barely a tap.

“You were so sure I’d make it out,” Shiro says. “And I wanted to believe it, too. You made me want to believe.”

He catches Keith’s hand when he goes to hit his shoulder again, slipping his fingers so easily through Keith’s. He presses a short kiss against his knuckles, then drops their hands down so they rest together beside Keith’s head.

“You make me want to believe in everything, Keith.”

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith says. He closes his eyes, mouth wobbling as he fights back against the tears that rise.

“I wanted it to be true and I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life, however long that life might be.” He pauses then, his own heart feeling too quick, his voice too wobbly. “I still feel that way.”

Keith sniffles and then yanks down hard on Shiro’s hand, bringing him down. He kisses Shiro desperately after that, all tongue and teeth, the softest mewl of Shiro’s name punching up from his throat.

And really, after that, they do very little talking.

-

They spend the rest of the day shifting between lounging on the bed together, swapping lazy kisses, and wandering around the living quarters to grab food and to clean up. Despite Keith’s enthusiastic suggestion that they try showering together, LP’s shower is not large enough to physically fit them both. With deep regret, they take turns cleaning up.

As they nap well into the evening, the wolf comes sniffing around for more food. Shiro uses his arm to blindly feel around the food supply until he finds something suitable, unwilling to untangle himself from around Keith. He doubts Keith would let him go, either, considering how tightly he holds Shiro in his sleep.

It feels good.

Keith curls up close like a cat, purring slow and sleepy. It’s hardly different from how their trip has been thus far, but it’s infinitely better to have the permission to hold Keith close like this, to enjoy the way he curls into his side like he was always made to be there. That he can luxuriate in the gentle feeling of his fingertips tracing up and down his spine, or petting his hair. That he can enjoy the moment Keith’s sleep-soft mouth brushes against his skin. He can enjoy it without guilt and without the longing he’s grown so used to. 

As Keith starts to wake, he nuzzles sleepily against Shiro’s chest, burrowing closer. Shiro hums, reaching down to tug the blanket up around them. His smile, he knows, is helpless. Overwhelmed and wondering.

He gets to have this. They get to have this together.

He kisses the top of Keith’s head, overwhelmed and blissful. Keith grumbles as he wakes up fully, and Shiro always wants to feel like this. Just a little bit drunk, just a lot heartsick. He wants to be happy like this forever. He’s never felt as happy as he does in this moment.

Sometimes, he thinks, he loves Keith even more than the stars, the entire universe. He’d give it all up for Keith and never regret it.

And he loves Keith because he knows Keith would never ask it of him.

Keith seems resistant to actually waking up. He grumbles but doesn’t unearth his face from where it’s pressed into Shiro’s chest. Shiro chuckles, the sound rumbling through him, and presses open-mouthed kisses to his shoulder, then his neck and face. It means he has to twist around a bit to reach, but the slight crick in his neck is worth the wrinkle of Keith’s nose when he finally giggles and shoves Shiro’s face away.

“Alright, I’m awake,” he grumbles, and then tugs Shiro back in to kiss him properly with a pleased sigh. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Shiro says, voice soft and breathless. “Sleep well?”

Keith hums and kisses Shiro again, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip in a slow tease. “Yep.”

“We’re definitely behind schedule,” Shiro says. “And managed to ruin our sleep schedule.”

They still haven’t left the nebula, and it’s well into the time when they’d normally be heading to bed, LP’s day-cycle sinking into the night-rotation.

Keith doesn’t seem concerned, though, stroking his hand over Shiro’s chest. He traces along a few stray scars and thumbs at one brown nipple. “Mm. I guess.”

Shiro laughs when Keith sits up a bit, moving to straddle Shiro’s hips. His hair falls in a dark curtain to frame his face and Shiro delights in the opportunity to swipe at it fondly, curling and uncurling his fingers, tugging playfully.

“You don’t seem too concerned.”

“We’ll get home when we get home,” Keith says. “There’s no rush.”

“Guess that’s true,” Shiro says. He sighs. “It gives me more time to draft my resignation letter. I think I want that ready to go before we actually land planetside.”

Keith nods his approval, trilling very quietly when Shiro tugs on a piece of his hair in a way he finds particularly pleasing.

“I can help, if you’d like,” Keith says.

“Thanks, Keith.”

Keith nods. “We’ll need to tell the others, too.”

“True,” Shiro says. “Although I guess they’ll also figure it out eventually. Probably around the time they see me kiss you.”

Keith laughs, shoving a hand on Shiro’s face to cover his eyes. “You’re so embarrassing.”

Shiro kisses Keith’s palm. It only makes Keith giggle and tug it away. Shiro grins up at Keith, feeling boyish and absurd.

“You like me anyway,” Shiro says and Keith hums. He doesn’t have to say it for Shiro to know it’s true, especially when Keith starts playing with his hair, twisting and untwisting his fingers around the longer ends of Shiro’s bangs, pinning them away from his face.

Keith’s smile is sweet. He’s unspeakably handsome, arching over him like this. He looks relaxed in a way Shiro’s never seen— confident and calm. Happy. It rolls off him in waves, radiating like the warmth of any star.

Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over just how much, just how cosmically, he loves Keith. In all the little ways like this. In all the big ways, too.

“And I’ll need to tell Mom,” Keith says, blushing sweetly. It’s such a pretty look for him.

Shiro nods. “Yeah.”

Keith sobers then, staring down at Shiro. “… Shiro. You’ll need to complete the Galran tradition of battling the clan leader for your intended mate—”

“What?” Shiro asks.

Keith nods, brow crinkling. “Battle of wits and fortitude. You’ll need to fight my mom in hand-to-hand combat and also solve her riddles in order to win my hand.”

Shiro frowns, considering the logistics. “Okay.”

But Keith’s serious expression splinters and then he barks a shocked laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Don’t agree without even thinking about it! I was kidding!”

“Kidding?”

“It’s a dumb joke my mom told me on the whale,” Keith says, laughing still. Shiro desperately wants to know the context for why that should have come up.

But instead, Shiro just laughs. He runs his hand up Keith’s side, grinning wider as he feels the way Keith’s body bows around his laughter, the swell of his breath and the heave of his belly.

“I’d do it, though.”

“God, you really would, wouldn’t you?” Keith asks, wondering. He’s smiling, his blush that pretty plum color again. “Don’t worry. No fighting necessary… Mom will be happy for us.”

“She approves of me, then?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’d be with you even if she didn’t. But, yes. She really likes you. You know that.”

Shiro has no right to feel quite so warm at the praise, but he does— his cheeks heat with a blush and his smile is definitely dopey. It makes Keith laugh at him, but that’s okay because it’s such a sweet sound. Keith flops back down so that they’re chest to chest, stroking his hands along Shiro’s clavicle.

Keith hums when he leans in and kisses Shiro. And Shiro can get used to this— so many of their conversations are quiet like this, kisses used to punctuate their points or simply to distract. Or, simpler still, merely to be close to one another, to feel the ghost of their breath, the curve of one smile pressed against another.

“Well,” Shiro says. “I like her, too. So that works out.”

Keith huffs, rolling his eyes again fondly. He strokes his fingers along Shiro’s jaw and then pulls back with a sigh. He stretches, throwing his arms above his head and bending his back until it gives one little pop. He makes a pleased sound, although Shiro can hardly pay attention, instead just admiring the curve of Keith’s front as he arches his back. The strength of his chest, the flat plane of his belly, the flexing lines of his arms.

Keith’s eyes glitter with amusement once he slumps again, Shiro’s intentions clear. “Come on,” Keith says. “I’m hungry. And we really should get moving before we’re stuck in another alien migration path.”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees, although he makes no move to climb out of bed.

Instead, he rolls onto his side and admires Keith as he moves around their living space, digging through their clean laundry until he finds a pair of underwear. He tugs that on and then pulls out one of Shiro’s shirts from their pile, slipping it on.

“Have you worn your own shirt since we’ve been out here, literally once?” Shiro asks.

Keith winks. “Nope.”

It makes Shiro laugh, wolf-whistling when Keith bends over to tug on a pair of sweats. Keith snorts out a shocked laugh and grins, wriggling his ass pointedly. It makes Shiro laugh harder until he can barely breathe. He can’t even defend himself when Keith fishes out a pair of pants for Shiro and throws it his way.

“Maybe I should wear one of yours,” Shiro teases as he wakes up his Altean arm and slips out of bed, tugging up the pants. He grins when he feels Keith’s eyes on him, tracing along his thighs and dick before he slips the pants up over his hips.

Keith continues to eye him, his smile sly. “Could you even fit?”

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Shiro shoots back. It makes Keith laugh.

“Your own shirts are tight enough,” Keith says as he fishes out one of Shiro’s shirts, one of his few tank tops, ideal for accommodating his shoulder. He tosses it to Shiro.

Before they climb up the ladder towards the cockpit, Keith tugs Shiro in and kisses him one last time, sweet and content. It still feels a bit like a dream, all the edges fuzzy as they sway together. Shiro presses Keith back against the wall, swallowing Keith’s delighted purr.

“Okay,” Keith gasps many minutes later, thumping his hands against Shiro’s chest. “We really do need to get moving. Stop distracting me.”

“Don’t blame me! _You_ kissed _me,_ mister,” Shiro says but starts climbing up the ladder obediently. He barks a laugh when Keith whaps him on the ass once it’s eye level.

“How can I not kiss you?” Keith says as he climbs up after him.

They enter the cockpit laughing. The wolf looks up from where he’s been lounging, eyeing them with that same sense of judgement that Shiro felt the first time he interrupted them. Keith kneels to scrub his hands through his mane, ruffling him up and squeezing his face.

“Hey, buddy,” Keith says. “Sorry to kick you out. You can go sleep in your bed now if you want.”

The wolf huffs, licks Keith’s cheek, and disappears with a flicker, presumably to return to his bed in the corner downstairs.

“So,” Keith says as he drops easily into the pilot’s chair. “Ready for a late-night drive?”

“Aren’t all of them technically late-night drives?” Shiro laughs, gesturing towards the inky cosmic sky.

Keith fiddles with the controls for the day-cycle, making sure not to disturb the settings downstairs for the wolf, but brightening the light marginally for the cockpit. Once settled, he unflips the anchoring controls and starts warming up their warp-engines.

The flimulp are long gone and Shiro and Keith take a long moment to just stare out at the nebula before them. Shiro feels breathless again, and there’s a large part of him that’s grateful that, despite all the years in space, despite all the sights they’ve seen, the cosmos can still take his breath away.

He realizes several minutes later that they still haven’t moved. Shiro turns his head to find Keith watching him rather than the stars, his smile soft and unbearably fond.

“Didn’t want to interrupt,” Keith says.

“Thanks,” Shiro says. He laughs, embarrassed, although he knows Keith would never judge him or tease him for his romanticism of the stars.

It is, after all, the first thing they ever truly bonded over. Keith loves the stars just like Shiro does. Keith is the reason Shiro can love the stars even now, after all this time. That he’s even here at all to love them.

“Ready?” Keith asks.

Shiro nods. “I’m ready.”

Keith casts one last long, fond look at the nebula, and then nudges the engines to life, coaxing LP forward. She hums around them and then, effortlessly, Keith turns their ship and continues on.

Shiro waits until Keith’s finished the more finicky controls before he offers his hand to him, palm up.

Keith glances and laughs when he sees, but he’s quick to place his hand on top of his, their fingers curling. It’s maybe not the easiest to drive their ship one-handed, but if anyone can manage it, it’s Keith. And he seems content to just hold Shiro’s hand.

They spend the night flying, unhurried and unhindered. They hold hands through most of it, pausing only when Keith does need both hands for maneuvering, or when one or both of them stands to stretch their legs. Sometimes they talk, but mostly they just fly through the quiet together, secured and holding tight.

It’s all they need.

-

They spend the next few days switching off piloting LP. As Keith pilots, Shiro works on drafting up his resignation letter to the Garrison. When Shiro pilots, Keith finds new and strange ways to sit in his chair.

At one point, he does call his mom. Shiro focuses on flying and tries not to eavesdrop, a very difficult task when Keith is sitting literally right there. Shiro keeps waiting for Keith to mention them, unsure if he’ll wait until they’re face-to-face to say so, or if he’ll tell her right away.

“I could have warned you that Anterrilyn is just a tourist trap,” Krolia says once Keith finishes his story about the green lava pits. She laughs good-naturedly when Shiro glances over and turns red. “The lava pits on Ghese are far more interesting, anyway. You know. For next time.”

“Are they green, too?” Keith asks, sounding interested if only on Shiro’s behalf.

“More green-blue, I think,” Krolia says after a pause. “Much more remote. You have to hike out to them. No air-traffic allowed.”

“Sounds perfect,” Keith says and turns towards Shiro, grinning. “For next time.”

Shiro smiles back, helplessly. “Next time.”

“I have a few places I can recommend,” Krolia says. “If you’re interested.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Thanks, Mom. That’d be great.” Keith’s eyes are still on Shiro’s, though, his expression soft. His smile is sweet when he says, “We aren’t going to wait so long next time.”

“No more waiting,” Shiro agrees, his voice overly soft— forgetting, for a moment, that Krolia is right there on the video-call, watching the way he smiles all besotted at her son. He knows better than to hope Krolia won’t notice; she is, after all, a spy from an ancient rebel organization.

Krolia hums, betraying nothing. The conversation moves on from there and Shiro tries to give them a shred of privacy again, focusing on the cosmic sky beyond their viewport. Keith recounts other parts of their trip, their current trajectory and location via starmap, their ETA to reaching Earth. Krolia asks after Keith’s sleep, how the wolf’s been, how the ship’s faring, and then she surprises Shiro entirely by asking after him.

He blushes, still a little startled. He’s always liked Krolia despite how little they’ve talked, mostly bonding with her over how great Keith is. But because of that, he never knows what to do with her genuine concern and interest in him.

It’s when the call seems to be reaching its natural conclusion that Shiro feels Keith’s eyes on him again. Shiro glances over at him, seeing the question swirling there in his eyes. He smiles, tilting his head, and nods just slightly.

Emboldened, Keith turns back to Krolia and says, “Mom, we have— ah. One last piece of news, I guess.”

“Yes?”

“Shiro and I, we—” Keith says, then fumbles. It’s adorable to see him look so flustered, still getting used to just getting to _say it_ , it seems. He looks so handsome despite his embarrassment, his cheeks plum-red, his smile helpless and silly. If Krolia had no idea before— unlikely— there’s no way she couldn’t know now, seeing the look on her son’s face.

“We’re together,” Shiro cuts in when Keith can’t quite manage the words because he’s grinning too widely. Keith casts him a grateful look. Shiro swallows as he meets Krolia’s eyes over the video-call. “We, um. Yeah. I love him.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, laughing. _You don’t have to say that much,_ the tone seems to say, but Shiro’s tired of swallowing the words back. Let everyone know.

“I’m happy for you,” Krolia says and she sounds like she means it, her smile slight and so, so achingly like Keith’s. “For both of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Keith says, his voice full. His smile is brilliant, bright and sweet. “We’re, um. We’re really happy, too.”

He snaps his hand out then, grabbing for Shiro’s. It makes Shiro laugh, tangling their fingers together. It’s such a simple show of affection, but he can feel the pleased, possessive power in Keith’s grip, can see the love in his smile.

“Once we reunite, Shiro will have to initiate the ancient Galran tradition of battling for one’s mate, then,” Krolia says.

“Mom, stop,” Keith laughs. “I already did that joke.”

Krolia is straight-faced when she says, “Why did you believe that to be a joke, Keith?”

Shiro laughs, but he really has no idea if she’s still joking or being serious. He can’t read her expression at all. Keith sputters and Shiro’s not sure if it’s shock or amusement.

Krolia’s lips quirk up into that very Keith-like smile. “We can speak on it more later. Once we see each other again. Be well, Kit. And Shiro, fly safely.”

“Always, ma’am,” Shiro says, which is a bald-faced lie but at least Keith doesn’t call him out on it in front of his mother.

Keith says his goodbyes to his mom and hangs up, docking the PADD back into its charging bay before he swivels around to look at Shiro.

“She was kidding about the fighting thing, right?” Shiro asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Keith says. “… I’m pretty sure.”

It makes Shiro laugh. He squeezes Keith’s hand.

“It’s fine,” Keith says, promising. “Even if she’s being serious, I won’t let you fight alone.” He stands from his seat then, stepping closer. Shiro swivels in the pilot’s chair, making space for him to stand there before him. He tips his chin up, grinning at Keith. Keith cups his face then, thumb dragging gently across his bottom lip.

“You going to protect me, Keith?”

“Duh,” Keith says. His expression melts when he adds, “Always, Shiro.”

Shiro hums and accepts the kiss when Keith ducks down to meet him. Keith’s hair falls forward, wisping against Shiro’s cheeks, and he feels another spark of pleasure and relief at having Keith so close.

“Mom would let you win, anyway,” Keith says.

“And insult both our honors as warriors? Not likely,” Shiro says. He sighs. “So… Want to call the Paladins next and tell them?”

Keith laughs. “Might as well. Get it over with in one fell swoop, right?” He plays with Shiro’s hair. “I get to tell them this time.”

“Might be hard to corral them all into one chat,” Shiro says thoughtfully.

“I’ll just text Lance and say that I’m fucking you. He’ll weep over his missed chance with his crush and then tell everyone within the varga.”

“Not this crush thing again,” Shiro laughs.

“Want to bet, Admiral?” Keith says, voice soft like a coo. He swipes his thumb across his lip again. “Anyone with eyes would want you.”

“Stop,” Shiro laughs. He kisses Keith’s thumb. “I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Just me,” Keith says, halfway between wondering and teasing.

“Just you.”

Keith’s smile is beautiful, more stunning than any of the stars beyond their ship’s window.

-

_ This letter serves as my official resignation as an officer in the Galaxy Garrison Terran Forces. As per the commission I signed, I have completed all my requirements and have served the prerequisite amount of time. At this point, I would like to move on from military service and apply what I have learned to another path. _

_ My sincerest hope, based on my spotless military record, is to receive an honorable discharge and retain all post-military benefits that come with such a discharge. I will complete the necessary paperwork and provide further information through the appropriate channels. _

_ Thank you for the opportunity to serve within the reserve and thank you for your cooperation as I transition beyond it. _

Shiro waits as Keith reads through the letter on the PADD once they’re closer to the Sol system.

Keith reads through it silently, nothing breaking through his calm expression as he reads. Once he finishes, he breathes out through his nose and lifts his gaze to look at Shiro.

“No ‘I’ll look back on this time fondly,’ or anything like that?” Keith asks, although there’s no accusation in the tone.

It’s true that Shiro’s read plenty of resignation letters for the Galaxy Garrison in the past. Many of them are similar— thanking the Garrison for its time, for the lessons it taught, for the pride of serving within its ranks.

And maybe it’s not fair that Shiro would look at the Garrison now and see it only as a chokehold. For so many years, the Garrison was Shiro’s escape, his ticket to freedom and to happiness. It was his dream for so long, and he never would have achieved that dream without the Garrison, without the people within it taking a chance on him despite his  _shortcomings._

Shiro looks back down at the letter as Keith hands it back.

“I think it’s fine if you don’t say it,” Keith says, reassuring as he weaves behind Shiro’s seat and drapes his arms over his shoulders, pressing cheek to cheek so he can look down at the letter again. “If anyone’s earned a boilerplate resignation letter, it’s the Garrison.”

Keith’s unyielding loyalty makes Shiro smile.

“Thanks, Keith,” Shiro says in a quiet murmur. He lifts his hand to squeeze Keith’s, shifting it to press one kiss to the tendons in his wrist. It makes Keith chuff a quiet laugh.

“I just know… despite it all, you loved it,” Keith says. “Before.”

“Before,” Shiro agrees. “It made me happy. It gave me purpose.”

_ Before. _ It feels long ago now. The boy who left for Kerberos was a very different person than the Shiro who sits here now, operating a ship he built from scratch with the love of his life. That Shiro from before had been through a lot, but not nearly as much as this Shiro has now.

Shiro knows it’s impossible to go back to being that boy. He’s long gone. And Shiro is left in the aftermath of it all, still learning who he is.

_ Let’s learn who we are in a peaceful world, _ Keith had said to him. Shiro smiles, quieter still, and finds himself excited to learn that. Step by step. He’ll get there.

He drops his hand back to the datapad and resumes typing, editing the letter to add:

_ I will remember my time at the Garrison fondly. I’m grateful for the experiences and opportunities it has given me. Thank you for the opportunity to serve within the reserve and thank you for your cooperation as I transition beyond it, using all that I’ve learned to help better the universe. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Admiral Takashi Shirogane _

Keith kisses his cheek as he finishes drafting the letter.

Shiro takes a deep, steadying breath. He can feel that Keith’s holding his breath, too.

“Ready?” Keith asks.

“Ready,” Shiro says, and hits send.

-

As they get closer to their solar system, Keith starts to get antsy. Shiro ignores it at first, figuring that Keith will mention something once he’s ready. Keith gets up and paces around the cockpit, settles back into his seat, and rearranges his limbs in a series of strange positions, hoisting his legs over the edge of an armrest, then twisting them around beneath him, then hooking one and splaying out the other.

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks, brow furrowed. He’s torn between being genuinely concerned or being amused, honestly.

Keith sways a little, halfway up on his seat, looking like he doesn’t know if he wants to walk around again or settle back into his chair.

“Um,” Keith says. He sways, crosses his arms, and bites his lip.

“Keith?” Shiro asks, edging more towards concern rather than amusement now. “What’s up?”

Keith is quiet for a moment, and then he sighs out through his nose. “Okay, fuck it,” he says. “I’m just going to do it.”

He jumps up from his seat, approaches Shiro in the pilot’s seat, and shoves Shiro’s legs open. Keith kneels down just in time for Shiro to startle, face turning red.

“Woah—” he says and jerks backwards with the ship’s controls.

It sends the entire ship hurtling up in an abrupt change of trajectory, which sends LP lurching. It also means that Keith nearly clips his chin hard against Shiro’s metal arm, only just managing to duck out of the way and brace himself against Shiro’s thigh, his hand clenching tight against his muscle.

“Shit!” Shiro gasps. “Sorry—!”

He rights LP quickly, but he feels ridiculous, especially when Keith starts giggling, nervous energy and the absurdity of the situation catching up to him.

“Did you seriously almost crash our ship?”

“You surprised me!” Shiro says, and then startles again when Keith slides his hands up Shiro’s thighs and hooks his fingers around the waistband of his pants. “K- Keith! What are you doing?”

Keith’s entire face is red when he looks up at Shiro. He looks like he’s aiming for coy, but his voice sounds a little breathy and overeager when he says, “I think this looks pretty obvious, doesn’t it?”

“Keith—” Shiro fumbles, nearly sending LP jerking around for the third time. “I’m— I’m flying!”

“You sure are,” Keith says agreeably, the confidence returning to him now. His voice almost sounds level. Shiro could almost believe that Keith was fully confident and cool if not for the massive blush blooming over his face. “So, uh— Yeah?”

“I—”

“Is it okay?” Keith asks. He swallows. “I want to, before you ask. I just, uh. I haven’t before, you know.”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Shiro groans. “Of course I—”

He doesn’t manage to say the rest of that sentence before Keith gives a pleased trill and yanks Shiro’s pants down over his hips. Shiro’s not hard but he has no doubt Keith will take that in stride and, of course, take it as a challenge.

“Should I— I should park,” Shiro says.

“Nah,” Keith says. “Keep going. We have a schedule to keep.”

He scoots in, nearly knocking Shiro’s chair askew with his eagerness to get closer. He lifts himself up higher on his knees, frowning, one hand on Shiro’s hip and the other reaching out to touch his cock.

Shiro twitches in Keith’s hold. He bites his lip, flushing.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about this,” Shiro says. The pacing around the cockpit suddenly seems adorable in retrospect. It was Keith psyching himself up to do this. It’s cute.

Keith shrugs, blushing and not meeting Shiro’s eyes. “Um. I might have thought about this for, uh, you know. A long time. You always looked really good flying Black, by the way.”

“ _Keith,_ ” Shiro says.

“Uh huh,” Keith agrees.

He starts stroking Shiro off, his hand and touch surer. They’ve spent plenty of time in the last few days learning each other in this way, and Shiro’s well-familiar with the sweet slide of Keith’s hand on him, that cute little twist he does at the cockhead that always manages to make Shiro go breathless.

“You can touch me,” Keith says, which is less a statement and more a silent request. Shiro is quick to obey, dropping his hand to curl into Keith’s hair. He tries to keep flying LP but he already knows staying on their trajectory is a lost cause. “Just— Just relax, Shiro. And, um, tell me if I’m bad at this.”

“You couldn’t be.”

“Oh, I really could,” Keith says, laughing. “Just because you like me doesn’t mean I’m perfect at everything.”

“Yes, it does,” Shiro says petulantly. He doesn’t care if it’s unrealistic. Keith could bite him and while, yes, it would hurt and Shiro definitely doesn’t _want_ Keith to bite his dick, he’d still probably be happy for Keith’s attention.

He’s very far gone.

He leans back obediently when Keith pushes him with a gentle hand on his stomach. It makes the grip on LP’s controls a bit difficult to maneuver, but Shiro doesn’t care. He tightens his hold in Keith’s hair.

“Uh,” Shiro says, already breathless and punched out just from the thought of Keith touching him, just from the slightest slip of Keith’s fingers over him. “Do you want me to walk you through it?”

Keith’s mouth twitches with amusement. “I, um. Was paying attention to what you were doing.”

He laughs at Shiro’s expression, looking down with a pleased blush. He squeezes Shiro’s cock, coaxing him to full hardness with a few swift, sweet strokes of his hand.

“I’m no expert.”

“I beg to differ,” Keith says. “Anyway. You can tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, but… You know. I learn by doing.”

“Ha,” Shiro laughs and then his laugh breaks off into a groan when Keith squirms in close and presses an unbearably shy kiss to Shiro’s stomach. Keith strokes over Shiro’s cock for a few moments, not turning his head or moving his mouth near him, but the anticipation is nearly unbearable, anyway.

Shiro feels hypersensitive with the way Keith touches him, his breaths coming quick. His body feels like it’s never been touched like this, really. A strange thought, considering how well and truly familiar he is with Keith’s touch at this point. Expectation fires through him as he waits, relishing every little touch Keith gives him, the soft gust of his breath against his stomach nearly unbearable as his fingers twist and swipe down his cock, thumbing over the slit.

“Okay?” Keith asks. He looks up at Shiro and that’s torturous. 

Shiro wonders if this is how Keith felt, seeing Shiro between his legs for the first time, his hair in his eyes, looking up at him with that small smile, looking perfectly at home between his legs.

“Fuck,” Shiro says. “You’re so damn pretty.”

It makes Keith laugh even as he blushes deeper. “That’s a yes?”

“A definite yes, Keith,” Shiro breathes.

Keith grins and Shiro half expects him to dive in. But, no, Keith takes his time. He tugs on Shiro’s cock in short, little pulls, pressing wet kiss after wet kiss against his belly and then his hip. Shiro wants to squirm, wants to wriggle out of his pants enough to give Keith more to work with. He wants to pull Keith into his lap and rock against him, feel him in his hands, kiss him until they’re both breathless.

Keith wraps his hand around the base, careful and precise as he strokes up. He knows what pace to set for Shiro now, knows just how firm and slow Shiro likes it. Shiro starts to squirm.

“You’re listing left,” Keith says and Shiro jerks the controls to correct their path. He glares a little, although it’s more a pout, and Keith seems thoroughly unperturbed by the look.

He realizes, after a moment, that Keith isn’t so much teasing as he is preparing himself. He sees Keith eye his cock, swiping slowly, biting into his bottom lip.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, voice soft. “Whatever you want, Keith, it’s—”

“I know,” Keith says. “I want to. You’re just, uh. Um.”

“Big?”

“Well, at least you know as much,” Keith says. He sucks in a deep breath and then jerks forward, pressing a kiss to the head of Shiro’s cock.

Shiro breathes in sharply, hips nearly jumping forward at the foreign sensation. It’s been a long time. He nearly _whimpers_ at the feeling of it. And that seems to only encourage Keith, who smiles and leans closer again, swiping his tongue gently across the crown.

“Keith…”

“Uh huh.”

Emboldened now, Keith squirms closer and then licks a long stripe from base to tip, testing the full length of Shiro’s cock. He hums, delighted, and Shiro already feels ready to shake apart. It’d probably not be very romantic if he crashed LP, or if he just came from two quick swipes of Keith’s tongue. But it feels good, and Keith looks good touching him.

Keith strokes his hand in a gentle corkscrew, twisting and drawing Shiro’s cock to his mouth. He laps absently, shivering when Shiro’s hand flexes in his hair.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says. “Take your time.”

“I’d just go for it if I didn’t know you’d be all sad if I choked,” Keith says blandly and grins when Shiro’s the one to choke. He laughs as he looks up at him, his smile wicked. “Oh, or maybe you’d like that.”

“ _Keith,_ ” Shiro whines.

Keith doesn’t answer him, settling for wrapping his lips around Shiro’s cockhead and bobbing forward. Despite his tease, he takes his time— patience, Shiro thinks, with no small amount of pride even as it’s agony for him— sinking his mouth down with just a mouthful of Shiro’s cock. He suckles with a low moan, tongue curling in the way Shiro did for him before.

He mimics Shiro’s approach when he sucked Keith off before, pulling back and sinking forward again, bobbing his head in a simple slide, his tongue curling. Keith’s eyes are far too soft, openly affectionate as he looks up at Shiro, gauging his reaction. Shiro admires the boldness, but hasn’t that always been Keith’s way?

“Good,” Shiro whispers and Keith shivers, making that softest little trill as he squeezes his hand around the base of Shiro’s cock.

Keith hollows his cheeks and draws up, his tongue sweeping along the underside of Shiro’s cock. He’s mindful, takes his time, ducks his head down in short little bursts. It takes all of Shiro’s concentration not to just thrust up, forcing himself to hold still, to just let Keith explore, mouth and fingers wicked as they sweep over him.

Keith lets out a panting little breath when he backs off enough to say, “I’m going to practice and then I’m going to get you all the way down.”

It’s such a heartfelt vow— a vow for giving head, of all things— and Shiro can’t help his startled laugh, delirious with affection but also just very, very much wanting to help Keith achieve that dream.

“Fuck,” he says, with the deepest feeling. His heart feels like it might burst.

Keith grins up at him, cheeks flushed and face impossibly soft considering what he’s up to.

“Just, um,” Shiro says. “Take it slow. It’s nice… slow.”

“You pout a lot, but you just like being teased, then,” Keith says. He tries to say it absently, but it’s clear he’s pleased to have learned this about Shiro. Shiro gulps down and doesn’t deny it. He’s sure that, really, Keith’s just as stubborn as any— if he can tease Shiro, he will. He’ll be impossible with it. He’s already whined enough times about Shiro taking his time, but now the tables are turned.

“Hey,” Shiro says.

“If you say thank you, I’ll stop,” Keith says, laughing to show there’s no heat to the words. He doesn’t wait for Shiro to say anything in response, bowing his head and swallowing around him.

And, really, Keith hardly needs to take him all in. Just the mouthful he manages leaves Shiro quaking, shuddering with pleasure and tightening his hold on Keith’s hair. He doesn’t quite yank, but with one little tug, Keith garbles a pleased purr and Shiro is _gone_.

Keith mouths over him, sinking his lips over him, pillowing gently as he laves his tongue, twisting around the cockhead and suckling. It’s blissful, perfect in its own way— what Keith lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm, as with all things between them.

By the time Keith starts moaning, his eyes bleeding Galra yellow with his pleasure, Shiro is nearly over the edge. He only just manages to fumble his hand over the autopilot so he can sink both hands into Keith’s hair, guiding him gently forward.

Keith delights in the touch, purring sweetly, bobbing him in little bursts as he tentatively rolls his hips up. Keith swallows around him, moaning what sounds like Shiro’s name as he mouths at his cock, tongue sliding along the underside.

It’s too much. Shiro comes like that with a soft, panted warning, not even remembering to try to coax Keith off his cock before he comes. Keith groans and swallows around him, stroking his hand along the base, milking him as he licks at him in little kitten swipes.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself once he pulls off, licking his lips and grinning up at him. He strokes Shiro a few more times despite the oversensitivity, moving until Shiro gently pushes his hand away. Keith takes it in stride, catching Shiro’s hand so they can lace their fingers together.

“Come here,” Shiro pants, hardly recognizing his voice.

Keith grins wider and scrambles up to climb into Shiro’s lap, helping Shiro wriggle him out of his pants enough for Shiro to reach down and palm Keith’s cock, hard and throbbing against his fingers.

It hardly takes a few tugs before Keith comes with a sharp cry and a back arch, gasping out Shiro’s name to the ceiling. And, fuck, it’s a beautiful sight, too perfect for words.

They don’t speak as Keith slumps back down, the two of them meeting in a sloppy kiss as Keith purrs, leaning heavily against Shiro, perfectly content in his lap.

“God, you’re perfect,” Shiro whispers once they part, gasping for breath.

Keith laughs, flushing but clearly pleased by the praise. “Just wait until I can take you all the way down.”

Shiro has no doubt that Keith will eventually manage it. He’s always done very well with challenges, arbitrary or otherwise.

Really, all he can do is tug Keith down and kiss him harder.

-

The days go slowly after that. Keith and Shiro trade off shifts flying, pause to eat and to sleep, or to float in an asteroid belt and let the space wolf gallop outside the ship to stretch his legs.

It doesn’t feel like a tightening noose the closer they get to Earth. Shiro finds he’s actually looking forward to seeing it all— to spending time with their friends, to visiting the Grand Canyon with Keith, to officially resigning and turning in the metaphorical keys.

Shiro’s so used to having control, having things planned out. The blank slate lying out before him feels inviting, feels less like inevitability and more endless possibility.

He spends a few vargas making a list with Keith about the new designs and tweaks they’ll make for LP before they bring her out again, and it’s exciting even while still abstract.

_ Bigger shower, _ Keith types and grins when Shiro starts laughing.

“Fix the green water first!” Shiro says and laughs harder while Keith begrudgingly adds that.

Also added to the list: more legroom for the wolf, larger storage space for food, an on-site laundry facility, larger expansion of the photosynthesis unit for growing more fresh food, a hooked-up sound-system to play music so they can dance together.

“Another bed?” Shiro asks, teasing. “Bigger bed?”

“I like cuddling,” Keith mumbles, ears turning plummy purple with his blush, and Shiro can’t even manage to tease him because his heart leaps into his throat over the admittance.

“Back home,” Shiro says. He clears his throat. “Ah, well. You know… I’ve been mostly living on the Atlas.”

Keith blinks at him.

“So, once I resign… I, um. You know. I guess I’ll need to find a place.”

Keith laughs, ducking his head. “You want—”

“Only if you want—”

Keith laughs louder, shaking his head. “Yeah, Shiro,” he says. “We’re doing this all backwards, anyway. I mean. This…” He looks up at Shiro, his smile shy. “It’s not just casual. It’s— you’re it for me.”

“Keith,” Shiro says.

Keith shrugs. “You’re it. Yeah. Come live with me. We’ve been living on LP for over a phoeb. What’s living together at my place aside from my bed being bigger than LP’s?”

Shiro laughs, his heart in his throat. He takes Keith’s hand and squeezes tight. “Keith,” he says. “You’re it for me, too.”

Keith huffs a breath, ducking his head but not before Shiro sees his smile. He squeezes Shiro’s hand back. “Good.”

“Who else but you?” Shiro says.

Keith kisses him then. It’s desperate and sloppy but perfectly Keith. Shiro hums quietly, delighted to just kiss him back, to kiss him at all. It’s easy to breathe and have it be just Keith there with him. To feel the curve of his smile, the hush of his breath. He wants to kiss every sound from Keith’s lungs, to feel him held so gently in his arms. He wants to wake up every day to Keith’s face, wants to go to sleep each night with Keith’s name on his lips and his mouth kiss-swollen from Keith’s attention.

He wants, always, to be Keith’s happiness.

Keith sits back in his seat, thumbing through their list. His smile is secretive but pleased as he works.

“What about an automatic coffee maker?” Keith asks. “Too fancy?”

“How is that too fancy when we have a warp-drive?” Shiro says, laughing. “Add it to the list! Hell, let’s get a cappuccino maker.”

“That’s definitely too fancy,” Keith says even though out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees him add it to their list. Shiro doesn’t have the heart to tell Keith he was joking.

“Probably should make an actual alcove or room for the wolf,” Shiro says. “I feel bad he’s had to sleep on the floor this whole time.”

“Don’t worry,” Keith says. “He told me he likes the floor.” He hums, thinking. “But maybe we can add in heated floors. That’ll feel nice after a shower, too. And it’ll keep him warm.”

“Gotcha,” Shiro says, laughing. He weaves LP through a wide field of space debris, and only seems to realize, belatedly, that they’re not going through a random asteroid belt, but navigating around trans-Neptunian objects and icy debris of the Oort Cloud.

They’re home.

From this distance, Earth is just another glimmer of light. It’s so strange to think that Shiro can just _know_ that. It’s strange to think that he knows the moment that their journey through the galaxy strays from far away back to their backyard. Shiro pulls up their starmap and laughs. They’re just a few vargas away from passing by Saturn’s position in its orbit.

Home. It feels so different from when they came home before, Voltron barreling across the universe, racing to return to an Earth that had changed so much. This is more peaceful, more unhurried. It feels like a welcoming rather than desperation.

“Almost home,” he says.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks as he looks up, eyeing the starmap and then Shiro.

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro says. “I really am.”

He doesn’t know what the future holds, but he knows what it is he wants. He wants to be with Keith. Easy. That’s never going to change. He wants to be happy. Not so easy, but doable.

He can imagine there might be pushback in the Garrison, but Shiro is stubborn and he’s out-stubborned the Garrison before. He can do it again.

He can imagine how their friends will carry on, happy for them but good-natured in their teasing. He imagines holding Keith’s hand, casual and easy, whenever they hang out for their Paladin dinners. He imagines kissing Keith at the end of the night and letting it be as easy and simple as breathing. He imagines memorizing Keith’s smile and knowing what every look he makes means— because, really, he already knows.

He can imagine trip after trip into the stars, LP growing with each new maintenance shift between the two of them. Seeing new worlds, meeting new people. Helping where they can. Making a difference, a real difference.

Finding a new dream with Keith by his side.

It doesn’t feel so impossible anymore.

“You’re smiling,” Keith says, his voice soft as if he’s loath to break Shiro from his thoughts.

Shiro turns his head to look at him— Keith. Brilliant, stellar, breathtaking Keith. The most important person in his universe, the love of his life, the person who knows and understands him best out of anyone.

They’ve crossed the universe for each other.

“I’m happy,” Shiro says. “You make me happy.”

Keith laughs like he can’t believe it. His smile is warm as he leans in across that short distance between their seats and kisses Shiro.

“You make me happy,” Keith says softly. “So happy, Shiro.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. Beyond their viewscreen, the sky fills with familiar constellations. He leans in and kisses Keith again, and then again just because he can. He feels Keith smile as they linger like that, just breathing one another in. Softer still, he whispers, “Yeah, Keith.”

“So what’s next?” Keith asks.

“I don’t know,” Shiro says, and the admittance feels like opportunity rather than anxiety. He grins, his cheeks warming beneath a happy blush. “I guess we’re going to have to find out together, huh?”

“Together,” Keith agrees. He cups Shiro’s face, pressing a devotional kiss to his smiling mouth, sweet and worshipful. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too, baby,” Shiro says, noting the way Keith shivers at the name. He’ll have to remember that.

They stay like that together for a long time, simply looking at one another. Maybe it should be weird, but Shiro can only find it calming. Keith holds him and it’s easy. He holds Keith close, and he feels free.

They look away from one another only once vargas have passed, a flicker of light capturing their attention. It’s Sol in the distance, a burning yellow light. Closer still, the blue marble of Earth.

Keith sits in his lap then and it makes them both laugh. Shiro guides them towards home, navigating as best he can with a very distracting, very beautiful boyfriend sitting in his lap and kissing his neck.

Earth grows larger in front of them as they approach home. Shiro’s hands stay steady and true. Keith kisses his temple and lingers close, nosing into his hair.

“I love you,” Keith says, likely noting the strange flurry of feeling twisting in Shiro’s chest.

“Love you, too.”

And really, that’s all Shiro needs. Everything is right in the universe. Despite all the randomness, despite all they’ve been through, all the hardships, all the missed chances, all the almost and never-seens— they’re here.

They’re here and they’re together. They’re alive and they’re happy— and they have all the time in the world.

Shiro watches the sun spark its light across Earth, illuminating it. He glances at the compass mounted on their navigation board, its needle still pointing back towards him.

And he isn’t afraid.

He takes Keith’s hand, twining their fingers together, and holds on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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